The tents of An Ramash disappeared, replaced by lines of horse-drawn carriages–or mule-drawn, in our case. I’d already helped Nazrik pick apart the frame and roll up the carpets, and was now struggling to lift one of the heavier sacks onto the cart. It would have been easier with Salar, but ever since things had calmed down a bit, he got into a habit of disappearing for hours.
This time he turned up just as the whole caravan started moving like an enormous snake through the dunes. I was about to scold him for skipping work, but the look on his face was somehow troubled.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“I don’t… I don’t know,” he said, raising his patterned sapphire eyes to me. “I was hoping you would tell me.”
“I can’t see into your head.”
“Do you remember the dance? In the large tent, with people smiling with joy?”
“How could I forget…”
“There was that girl. Nisha. She smiled the brightest and laughed with a sound like ice cubes knocking against each other.” Salar shook his head. “I can’t get it out of my mind. Is there something wrong with me?”
I could barely hold back a grin. He must have had little time for looking at girls amidst the years of fleeing.
“Well, maybe. Have you seen her since?”
“Yesterday. And this morning. An hour ago, but she didn’t see me.”
So, things were worse than I thought. “Have you spoken to her?”
“About what?”
“Anything.”
“You can’t speak about just anything.”
I just let out a breath. This situation needed a professional.
“Naz! What can you speak about with a girl?”
Luckily, Nazrik didn’t even try to act like he wasn’t listening. He sat atop the carriage, holding the reins of the two mules. I’ve never seen these mules while An Ramash was settled down, only the gods knew where he got them.
“If you must speak to a girl, you’re not skilled enough,” he said. “But if you must spend time between two walks, I’d start with expressing her beauty.”
“Imagine you like another marid at home,” I said. “What would you do?”
Salar got lost in his thoughts, walking beside the cart with a pensive expression. Every djinn expressed affection differently; my kind was said to build nests like birds, filling it with usually unobtainable things to show our mettle. They rumored the marids to be romantic, while efrits took it more like a battle than courting. The earth djinns… well, that I couldn’t even imagine.
“Well… I think…”
“Marids are quite artistic,” Nazrik said, helping the totally lost Salar. “Some compose touching songs with melting icicles. Others use the roar of the sea to impress their chosen. At least I’ve heard so.”
It sounded wonderful, at least from my human perspective. I would have certainly been swayed if someone did something like that.
“That’s a start. Can you do something like that?”
Salar set his eyes on the sand below. “I don’t know. I’ve never chosen anyone before.”
“Then I’d suggest you think this through. Get to know her a bit.” Seeing Nazrik’s grin, I quickly realized I need to elaborate. “Not the Nazrik way, he means something different when he sends us on walks.”
“Is that jealousy?” Nazrik said.
“Shut up.”
“But how can I get to know her?” Salar said. “And even if I do, how would I know if I wanted to choose her?”
“Trust me, you will know. For a start, what does her family do for a living? What’s her favorite food? Does she like music?”
“Well… she danced. I’d think she likes music.”
“That’s probable.”
“That’s all I know.”
“Then put your sack on the cart and find her,” I said. “Start with offering some help. I’d be delighted if a kind, handsome boy turned up to carry my stuff for me. Then start asking some questions about her, maybe she’ll ask about you.”
“Fine, I will try.”
Salar tossed his sack on the cart and set off towards the coiling lines of carriages. I just hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble, or screw things up.
“Following him would be really inconsiderate,” Nazrik said a few moments later.
“Yes, it would. He’ll manage, won’t he?”
I lost sight of him when his silhouette mingled in the crowd, smiling at his childish innocence with a bit of.
“You shouldn’t be alone either,” Nazrik said.
“What do you mean?”
“You know precisely what I mean.”
“I’ve got you,” I said, looking up at him. “I don’t think anyone could be so enthusiastic about me like Salar is with Nisha.”
“I don’t think that girl knows that, either. Besides, haven’t you noticed anyone searching for your company?”
I shook my head. “Not really. But even if there would be someone, I’m open about what I am. Most people only see the djinn, not the woman. Why don’t you find someone who isn’t only for… eh, I don’t even know how to say it properly.”
“Because I don’t need it, unlike you, obviously.”
“Don’t give me that. Everyone needs it. Even as a djinn we search for a mate–or a chosen, as you said.”
“When you grow old enough, you realize some people aren’t allowed to have a chosen,” Nazrik said, setting his eyes on the reins with an unusually sour face.
I climbed up onto the cart and nudged him until he gave me some space.
“Not even another djinn?” I asked. “Not me, but a kind efrit girl. Or marid girl. Or whichever, I don’t know.”
“No. Especially not.”
I studied his face for a moment, but it was stoic and unmoving, like the statues at the last celebration.
“Did I say something?”
“In the stories of the marid, was I alone in leading the rebellion?”
“Depends. Everyone tells it differently.”
Nazrik’s lips pulled into a bitter smile. “They didn’t have a name, at least none I could speak with this tongue. When I was gripped by the force that sentenced me to imprisonment, they were locked in shackles that couldn’t melt and my last memory was seeing them dissipate into nothing. Without even the mercy of following me here, just because I was who I was. Have you heard that part?”
I hung my head in shame. I didn’t intend to tear at his deepest, oldest wounds or stab at his heart, but the thought of him having a chosen back home hadn’t crossed my mind before.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re probably the only one. But this tale isn’t about my pain. It’s about theirs. It’s about someone dying because of me. That’s why I can’t choose anyone.”
“I understand.”
The air became heavy and choking, the world darkened, a gray bitterness painting over the otherwise vivid colors of the desert. My pain over losing Ezair must have been nothing compared to his suffering after watching his mate die.
“You’ve said the world is a caravan, moving ever forward. Wasn’t anyone here who you thought… You know. With whom you’d be happy without the fear they would die?”
“There was. A lot, indeed, and more with every passing day and year. But some miracles are unachievable even for the spirit in the lamp,” he said, trying to rub the sourness from his face. “Don’t let an old efrit scare you. You’re not like me. You can choose.”
“How can you know?”
“Because even I could. I just chose under the wrong circumstances.”
“You’re barely a thousand and thirty-six, and they said we’re here for an eternity. You have plenty of time to change your mind,” I said, leaning my head on his shoulder. “As for myself, I might look for a human who adores me from time to time. There should be some over the millennia, no?”
“Of course, Princess Zaira.”
I buried my face in my palms. “Why did I doubt you’ve heard it… Did I look good holding the Bow of Izma?”
“You looked glamorous, according to the tales. Although I’m unsure what Izma would say to that.”
The monotony of dunes was broken by rocks and pebbles–not the most exciting things, but after miles of sand, anything was a sight for sore eyes. The path kept rising, eventually forcing the whole caravan to form a line while crossing the crevice leading up to the Qajari Peninsula. It was half a day’s travel through a narrow passage, cornered by steep walls from either side, but the Ramashi got used to it.
It was my second time, but it still amazed me how I could reach out from the carriage and brush my fingers against the stone. People said this whole thing came to be when the Old Garden fell, that some lands sank beneath, while others—like the lake and highlands of Qajar—rose up. It sounded better than sinking, but considering the suddenly emerged wall trapped them from the rest of Seiran, it was only slightly better.
People being people, they started praying their hearts out to Idar, god of rocks, strength, and peace, and due to their pure intentions, they say the god appeared. He stood at the edge of the newly formed peninsula and brought down his mighty sword onto the rocks, carving the passage. It was an interesting explanation of such an unnatural thing, if nothing else.
Although the gorge was spectacular, the horizon on the top was no short of breathtaking. Colossal, snow-clad mountains rose into the sky, scraping the clouds floating over the province, while on the slopes, hand-built terraces housed orchards and crops bathing in the sunlight. The most eye-catching sight was the enormous waterfall crashing down from a rock perch onto a pathway of stone canals, spreading out like veins on a leaf, and eventually gathering into a calm lake. It was honestly remarkable how humans tamed one of nature’s wildest phenomena, turning it into their lifeline in this otherwise harsh land.
The city of Qajar was no less impressive, with its walls of crimson marble and narrow streets running up the mountain. On the highest slope, where it was too steep for houses, stood the menacing Temple of Idar with a statue of the god easily twice the size the Ramashi had built for the Twins.
When I first saw Qajar, I thought people bet wrong on Shardiz since the New Garden was here–but they laughed at me. No matter how much spectacle this province had, you couldn’t survive on water alone, and workable soil was rather scarce. The terraces were the only places where crops could grow, and since they relied on the waters running from the mountains, it all came down to the rain again. It was like a crude joke from the marids, that no matter where you went, the rain was the only thing that mattered.
This time around, I just wanted to jump head-first into the lake, wash the journey’s hardships from my skin, and cut a bargain at everything Qajar had to offer. We usually took our time here, settling at the shore for more than a month, taking advantage of the population.
I twisted my neck around to take in everything; the sight of the city, the glistening of sunlight over the lake, the freshness of air mingling with the green-smelling grass, but the cart suddenly came to a halt. Dissatisfied cries echoed through the whole caravan, some people hopped down their carriages and ran towards the front of the line, others did the exact opposite. Nazrik just creased his forehead and rose into standing, trying to make out what had happened.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I want to. Would you mind taking a look?”
“Sure.”
I climbed down and made my way past the clueless Ramashi, running into a small crowd gathered at the front. They all stared at a group of soldiers wearing Qajar’s red and green colors, blocking our path.
Eventually a man emerged from the carriages, wearing a black and gold tunic, and so many fringes it almost looked ridiculous – almost, since everyone knew he was the Fringed Prince, An Ramash’s anointed royal. He was accompanied by two other men, all on horseback, meeting the Qajari band.
“What should I make of this?” the prince asked loud enough so all could hear.
A soldier adorned with golden shouldercloth separated from the group and rode towards the Ramashi delegate.
“We’re here to collect the levy, your lordship,” he said.
“I know of no levy.”
“But you know of the war, don’t you?” the soldier said. “You must since you openly refuse to acknowledge our offers of alliance, Fringed Prince. But you’ll see for yourself, if you’re bold enough to continue towards Kahlaran. There’s a front just between us and them.”
The prince didn’t reply for a while, only studying the face of this soldier – at least I guessed, it was pretty hard to notice anything from the fringes.
As we were standing there, watching the debate, I caught sight of Salar pushing through towards me. “Zaira. What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure, but I think they want us to pay. This has never occurred before.”
“Pay? For what?”
Before I could answer, the Fringed Prince spoke up again. “Prince’s Heir Nouzar. The last time I saw you, you were barely older than Nur is now. You know I can’t afford to involve An Ramash in any war.”
“I know. But you must understand that my father can’t afford to have some vagrants stroll around his province.”
“We are not some vagrants,” the Fringed Prince lashed out, embodying all our uproar. “And you’re no fool, so stop acting like one.”
“Waging a war is costly. A caravan such as yours is heavy on the royal treasury, so it’s only fair you pay for your stay.”
“Nonsense,” one of the Ramashi riders shouted. His voice was far younger than the prince’s, almost boyish. “You’re just punishing us for not taking part in your senseless slaughter!”
“That’s enough, Nur,” the prince said, staring intensely at the Qajari soldiers before turning to the other rider at his side. “Fahrad, prepare the exact amount Nouzar finds fair. I don’t want to hear another word of this come the next hour.”
And with that, the prince of An Ramash turned his horse around and returned to his people. I followed his figure until I could, but I couldn’t challenge his decision. The caravan was in dire need of rest, supplies, and buyers to keep the trade going. We were short on guards, let alone a standing army, so involving ourselves in the fighting would have meant the end of An Ramash.
“Let’s get back to Nazrik,” I said.
“Back?” Salar said, his brows rising in surprise. “I thought he’s with you.”
“He stayed with the carriage. We can’t leave it alone.”
“That’s where I’m coming from.”
“What? Oh, for storm’s sake.”
We hurried back towards the cart, and as Salar said, it was completely vacant. It was some godly miracle nothing was stolen, even considering the magical protection.
Nazrik arrived half a minute later, with a satisfied grin on his face but clothes somehow amiss.
“Where were you?” I said, hands on my hips.
“Had some business to attend to. Did you find out why we stopped?”
“Qajar collects a war tax.”
Nazrik let out a tired sigh. “Only natural. That’s what war is like.”
“Better than fighting, true,” I said, turning my eyes to Salar. “Tell me at least you had a good day.”
“You could say,” he replied, pulling out a bracelet from his pocket. It was braided from the tall grass cornering our path up the gorge, with some small bone pendants twined into it.
“Oh, that’s pretty. Nisha’s?”
“Yes,” he replied, smiling ear to ear. “Tomorrow I’ll make something for her.”
“The boy’s a fast learner,” Nazrik said.
“That he is. Tell me, why don’t you ask her to come over when we’re settled? For a dinner, let’s say.”
“Alright. But only if you’re cooking,” Salar said, to which Nazrik just grunted.
“I didn’t even hear that.”