Ashallah had always prided herself on the battles in which she prevailed and escaped unscathed, uncut. Some of those engagements that resulted in scars gave her moments of nostalgia as well, so that when she was with a concubine or a fellow warrior, she would point to a blemish and boast of its origin.
Only one mark provoked pause in Ashallah, even hesitation. Her first burn.
It stemmed from a wound she received while on her third scouting mission, her first venture into the former Renaikan city-state of Jydan. Located in southwestern Greater Dyli, Jydan had been a hotbed of insurgent activity during the early days of Ashallah’s career. Many Renaikan assassins and spies were rumored to have frequented its bazaars, cafes and even temples before going on their clandestine assignments. Ashallah, along with five other midnight warriors, had been tasked with identifying sympathizers of such enemies and reporting their findings to the Dylian general Silan.
The mission started out as many others, marked by long periods of boredom and dead ends. Ashallah visited many a café, tavern and house of pleasure, always watching and listening, yet finding nothing. Vistas of smoke-filled rooms and the calls of wild, sex-driven men comprised her nights, while aimless wanderings through bazaars and fecal-lined streets marked her days. Only the occasional rendezvous updates from her fellow soldiers broke the monotony, one that would last until the completion of their mission.
Early on the morning of her last day in Jydan, Ashallah had found the rendezvous spot her and her comrades visited absent of her sisters. She waited for an hour before venturing into the surrounding streets and alleys. When her search turned up nothing, the possibilities of what may have happened streamed into her mind, one still raw with inexperience. She forgot her training as she hurried through the streets, drawing attention to herself. She even went so far as to ask strangers about her comrades, another green mistake.
It was not until the stars began to fade that Ashallah finally spotted a glimpse of hope in the form of her captain, Sayeh. Only five years her senior, Sayeh had all the poise of a commander on the rise. Even when she saw Ashallah in her moment of desperation, she had managed to keep calm as she pulled her aside.
“The others never showed,” Ashallah had said.
“I know,” Sayeh replied. “Nor will they. We’ve been picked out of the crowd. Our cover is gone.”
“What?! How can that be?”
“I don’t know. But one thing is clear: we cannot complete our mission. We must leave.”
“Wait, General Silan commanded . . .”
“I have senior rank here! Are you questioning my command?”
“No, comrade.”
“Good. Then follow me. The others are waiting for us.”
Ashallah’s heart had sunk upon hearing the directive, for it would mark her first failure in the field. While scouting missions often turned out fruitless, she had hoped to impress her superiors, even the general, with details from their reconnaissance. So struck was Ashallah by the concept of defeat that she scarcely noticed the track they were taking. That is until a white light ahead attracted her concentration.
“You sure about this?” she asked as her eyes narrowed. Ashallah knew right away only one source could put out such a sight: a forge.
“I am. The blacksmith ahead is a friend to Greater Dyli,” Sayeh assured her.
Unlikely, Ashallah thought, as the anxiety she had felt a moment before hardened into doubt and suspicion. While some informants to her sisters-in-arms were men, such alliances remained rare. In her many weeks in Jydan, Ashallah had managed to converse with men but twice. In both cases, the discussions led only to a little information, none of it useful.
The eerie absence of sound further knotted Ashallah’s stomach. Too quiet had this neighborhood suddenly become. She wanted to tap her captain on the shoulder and usher her away, but she thought better of it. Further argument or resistance before a superior would be interpreted as insubordination, a brand she could not bear on only her third scouting mission.
Perhaps sensing her apprehension, Sayeh turned to Ashallah suddenly. “I’ll go ahead. Wait here.”
Ashallah scarcely had a moment to nod or protest, as Sayeh turned and disappeared. Since her assignment with her, Ashallah had always admired how Sayeh was as quick as a cheetah, no matter the environment. A few short leaps and she ducked into the blacksmith’s shop.
Ashallah knelt found a nearby barrel beneath an awning and knelt. She waited. Oil lamps would light soon, she knew, ushering the rising sun. She and Sayeh still had to cross the city to their safe house for the morning, to change into the abayas and hijabs of the local style and blend in before the Jydan bustled with life. Ashallah considered stealing some clothes from a roof, as a show of initiative, when a cry rang out from within.
She reached behind her to remove the khukuri blades from under her tunic. Focused, she darted inside the shop, determined to slay the man she knew to be a false friend of Dyli.
The shop, save for the equipment, stood empty. Ashallah scanned the whole of it, which glowed from the light of the forge.
A razor like no other sliced her left shoulder blade. The cut felt sharp and so much more. It bore a pain Ashallah had never felt, one that tingled like a thousand little spikes driven into her flesh. She fell on her side and turned to look up.
A white blade descended upon her. Ashallah had but a breath to roll away and miss the strike. With a thud and a spark, the steel hit the ground. Ashallah rolled, over and again, as the hot steel sent embers about her.
The white blade then struck close enough to her arm that she had the opportunity to swipe it away with her khukuri. With her other, she sliced into the shin of her attacker, who promptly jumped away. Ashallah then rose to her knee, ready to pounce on the assailant, only to find Sayeh on her rear, gripping her leg.
“You feral bitch!” Sayeh exclaimed. “You’ll pay for that!”
“Captain, what in the Five Doors?”
“Don’t look too shocked,” Sayeh said as she stood, ignoring her pain. “You think it a coincidence that our comrades never showed and you found only me?”
As Ashallah grasped the full extent of Sayeh’s betrayal, her back straightened as rose to her feet. “They were our sisters.”
“So they were. Running a fool’s errand, doing the bidding of a man.”
Ashallah’s voice deepened. “How much?”
Sayeh grinned in response. “Enough to buy my freedom, to ensure I never have to take orders from a man. I could even buy passage to one of those islands, where women are allowed to go unveiled during the day.”
“You’ll never buy anything else.”
“Oh, look at this one! Well, you bloodied me well enough,” Sayeh clasped her shin. “I’ll grant you that much.”
Ashallah, seeing her head bent, moved for a quick end. Nevertheless, Sayeh’s sleight of hand was faster. From a sheath strapped at the back of her leg, she drew a small handful of flash powder. The blue light exploded before Ashallah, blinding her, before the flash disintegrated into a puff of smoke that burned her eyes.
With her sight compromised, Ashallah heard the grunt of her captain. She ducked, just in time to miss the metal kiss of the heated blade. Ashallah swung back, hearing Sayeh shuffle and wince. She grunted again, her blade clanging against Ashallah’s khukuri. Ashallah parried as best she could, backpedaling until her back found the wall. Sayeh dove her blade point first as Ashallah sidestepped, narrowly escaping the thrust. Undeterred, Sayeh swung around, her blade flying wildly.
The grunts of her captain increased, as did the force of her attacks. Ashallah’s palms felt the full power of each advance. As did her ears.
She tires. Her wound aches. She cannot ignore it any longer. She grunts with each step.
Ashallah, her sight nearly clear, hopped back a few strides to the center of the shop. Sayeh, annoyed by the seemingly retreat,
Only then, with her opponent as a fresh corpse, did the adrenaline fade and the pain of the searing blade resume. The site of her open flesh tingled at first and then burned. The searing pain spread through her body like a fast-moving wildfire, overwhelming all her senses. Ashallah fell to one knee. She held out her hands, bracing her body, trying to keep herself from falling. Yet it was no use, for within a moment, she laid stretched on the ground in agonyas the burning consumed her.
The rafters above, as if to mock her pain, grew as white as the light of the blade that struck her. That blade. That light. Glowing and white.
“It burns,” Ashallah whispered to herself. “It burns.”
Then as now, Ashallah felt the same sensation overwhelm her senses. Though the burning did not extend from one wound as it had that night. Rather, it pulsed and reverberated throughout her body, crippling her to the point that she laid on the ground – if indeed it was the ground – writhing in agony. All the while, a light blinded her, as bright and fierce as the one that had marked her.
The feeling was such that Ashallah lost all sense of time. It could have lasted an hour or a decade for her. Not that time mattered much in such a condition. For her, all that mattered is her desire that it be over.
“What do you think?”
Ashallah’s mind perked. A man’s voice.
“Ahhh, she’ll writhe and squirm some more.”
Another man’s voice.
The sight of a white, blinding light was interrupted by a long streak of ebony.
A shadow. I can see. I can see!
The blur of the brightness faded. Her pain decreased. The fuzzy outline became two, the edges of them turned finer.
The sensation of her body returned. Her head. Her torso. Her extremities. She stretched out her arms. Wooden planks. I can feel them, she told herself as she braced them. Her torso ached as her abdominals tightened and she sat up. Blood rushed down her neck, leaving her light-headed. Nonetheless, her vision continued to clear as the objects before her grew more defined.
Thin vertical lines came into view. Although still in a haze, Ashallah could feel her neck twist as she moved her head. All around her, the lines appeared. Blurred at first. As her eyes adjusted to the sting of the light, the lines became more distinct as they took on the color of ebony. No, not ebony, Ashallah realized. Iron. Rods of iron. Prison bars.
The ground beneath her shifted. Then she leaned abruptly forward. The movement under her was no more.
I am in a wheeled cage. Suddenly, they stopped.
Ashallah put her finger to her temple, trying to collect her thoughts. The wooden planks beneath her radiated heat, as did her throbbing head, so she assumed the day was more than half-gone. She looked about her. Although her sight was not yet clear, the line of carts and people ahead and behind her remained visible. Every manner of transport composed the train, which disappeared and reappeared over the dunes like a snake with no end. Judging by those in her immediate vicinity, Ashallah gathered that she was towards the back of the train, as slaves and prisoners typically held up the rear of such processions.
The clang of iron behind her jolted Ashallah. She swung around to crouch on the balls of her feet, ready to pounce. Her assault stance lasted for just a moment. The momentum of her sudden movement was too much. She swayed to her left as she lost her balance to fall on the planks.
“Ha-ha, I knew it. She fell! She fell!” exclaimed a stout soldier with black stubble and a potbelly. “You owe me five silver.”
Ashallah rubbed her eyes as she rolled onto her back. Somewhere, coins clapped as one stacked on another. “Dumb bitch,” muttered one man, his tone short and gruff. The one that lost the wager, Ashallah assumed.
She rose to her hands and knees, trying to compose her balance once more. Again, the stout soldier struck the butt of his spear against the cage bars. The metal reverberated.
Stop it!
That is what she wanted to say. Though she could not.
Five Doors of Hell!
No sound.
Ashallah parted her lips. She spoke. She coughed. She screamed. Or at least she tried. In every case, not a word escaped. She mouthed all that she thought, with nary a fragment of sound.
In frustration, she pounded the wooden plank under her, her bone and flesh creating noise. Over and again, she hit it. Pounding and pounding.
A sharp point struck her calf. Ashallah glanced over her shoulder to spot the tip of a spear at her leg, having drawn blood. Her stare turned from the blade to the shaft of the spear, then to the soldier who held it, a rotund man grimy and ill-fitted in his leather armor.
“Cut that out!” he ordered.
Ashallah, with no voice or noise to offer in protest, bared her teeth. Seeing them, the soldier laughed.
“You were right! Look at how she bares her teeth like a dog. She is a bitch.”
Chuckles followed. Ashallah swung all around to find the hazy outline of other soldiers at all sides of her.
I need to get out of here. But how?
The chuckles subsided as the soldiers lost interest in her, turning their focus to others among the caravan line. Ashallah, feeling the throbbing in her calf, sat down to pull her right leg close to her face. Though her sight remained blurred, she could see that the soldier had dug his point an inch into her flesh.
She extended her legs and laid back on the floor of the wagon. If this had been any other situation, she would have bandaged her leg and thought nothing of it. However, being miles away from all she knew - with her family dead, herself in chains and her love lost – was starting to take its toll on her.
Ashallah closed her eyes. She could feel the midday sun baking her skin. It burned so bright that not even her closed eyes could provide her refuge, as the rays penetrated her eyelids to present a glowing red curtain to her blurred vision. Her skin tingled as the heat cooked her alive. All of her burned, especially the fresh wound of her leg.
She sat up, opening her eyes in defeat, regretting that she even woke up at all. Still, her leg burned.
Why does it hurt so?
Ashallah studied her cut again. While not a surface scratch, her cut was not unlike others she had had. However, it tingled in a way unfamiliar to her before.
She extended her right leg, believing her sensation to be a byproduct of the Sultan’s magic that had cast her in slumber. She massaged the whole length of her leg, only to feel the irritation worsen.
She twisted her leg to study it once more. The sensation lessened.
She rested it on the floor of the wagon. Pins and needles jabbed at her wound again.
“What the . . .”
Ashallah knelt to study the plank beneath her. A dull white wood, it appeared like any other. Roughhewn and abrasive. However, no shards had splintered off into her cut.
On a whim, she tore off a splinter and placed it in her mouth. Her lips and tongue came to life, as they felt set afire.
Coastal dogbane, she realized. A favorite building material of the western provinces of Greater Dyli. While not fit for homes or palaces, it was used all the time for fences and walls, prisons and cells. As well as wagon transports.
At that moment, Ashallah knew what to do.
She tore shard after shard, splinter after splinter, from the plank. She collected a small pile of shavings in the palm of her hand. Then, in one fell swoop, she threw her head back and ate it.
Her mouth was the first part of her to experience the effects. A fireball seemed to burst open inside, to attack her tongue, her gums, and even her teeth. The burning lasted a few seconds before her mouth went numb. Then her throat erupted in pain. Ashallah clawed at her throat, gasping for air.
“Now what?”
Her eyes watered. Through her tears, Ashallah detected the rotund soldier as he approached her barred wagon. She motioned to her throat.
“What’s that?” the soldier asked again.
“I think she’s choking,” said another as both of them stepped towards her.
The sensation cascaded from her throat down into the pit of her stomach. Ashallah clutched her gut as she bent over and heaved.
Vomit ensued. The soldiers jumped back as drops splattered their faces and armor.
“Five Doors of Hell!” yelled the round one.
“I’ll gut her!” cried the other.
“Don’t!” commanded their superior, somewhere close by. “The Sultan ordered us to transport her alive.”
“Well then what are we to do?” asked the rotund soldier. “She made a bloody mess.”
“Go bring the Aliya.”
“The what?”
“The women in white, you idiot!”
The rotund smiled. Ashallah managed a grin before her stomach stirred and she vomited again.
Minutes later, a tall, brusque woman, with a smaller woman to each side of her, strode up to the cart. The rotund soldier followed in tow, careful to keep his distance from Ashallah, who laid on her side.
“What’s the matter with her?” the soldier asked.
“When’s the last time she had water?” asked the tallest of the Aliya.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, then it’s safe to assume that her body is dry inside, to say the least. Open the cage.”
“What?”
“Do it,” commanded his superior.
The rotund one fumbled with the keys on his ring. Ashallah, hearing the clank of brass against brass, lifted her head as the metal door creaked open and the tallest Aliya entered.
“My Jaha,” the woman exclaimed as she put her wrist to Ashallah’s forehead. “She’s afire. Help me get her to some shade.”
A pair of hands dug under her armpits as another grasped the back of her knees. Together, they lifted her out, albeit clumsily. Ashallah’s body swayed for a few moments before finding shade and sand.
“Can you turn over?” asked the tallest Aliya.
Ashallah nodded, although she did not know why the woman wanted her to move. She rolled onto her side. Feeling a sensation roil up within her gut, she braced herself on her hands and knees as her inner contents spewed onto the desert floor.
“Awww! Uhhh!” she heard the rotund soldier mutter. For all her distaste of him, she could not blame him for his reaction. The dogbane, mixed with whatever had been inside her, emanated a stench fouler than any dung. The last round had proven even worse than the one she had spewed up in her wheeled cage. The smell wafted up to Ashallah’s nostrils, prompting her to vomit again.
“Can’t you give her something?” asked the soldier.
“Not until her innards settle,” replied the tallest Aliya as she knelt to pat Ashallah on the back.
“Well, at least gather it so it’s ready!”
“Quiet!” yelled his superior. He turned to the Aliya. “The Grand Sultan was clear. We have a schedule to keep.”
The tallest bowed her head. “I mix some charcoal with water and some sweet wine. That should settle her insides for the remainder of the day.” She rose and motioned to her two sisters of the cloth. “Come, quickly now. We have work to do.”
For a moment, Ashallah found herself alone, save the glances from those in the train that kept their distance. She crawled from the mess she had made to another patch of shade, even further from the stares of curious eyes. Isolated as much as she knew she could be, she placed the palms of her hands to the ground and closed her eyes. She waited. Concentrated. Listened.
“Ashallah!”
She rose to her knees and straightened her back. The rush of blood to her head was almost too much.
“Can you hear me?”
The voice was Darya’s, as clear as though she were next to Ashallah.
Ashallah, regaining her composure, placed her palms on the sand once more.
“Yes,” she said, not aloud but in her mind.
“Good.”
“Is this really happening?”
“It is. This is how you were able to hear me in the dungeon, from the library above. You can place your hands to the ground, like many of us turquoise, to share our thoughts, our dreamscapes.”
“Since when?”
“Perhaps since always. It is a gift you must have possessed your entire life, a latent ability. One dormant. Until now.”
“Darya, where are you? Are you in this caravan?”
“No. I’m by the sea, I think. I saw the ocean as the janissaries took me down.”
“Down? Where?”
“Another dungeon, but one not so deep. I can hear the footsteps and rattling overhead. Whatever is happening, it involves many people.”
“And Rahim? Is he there?”
“No. Still, I can sense him. They have tortured him as much as me. He has endured, thankfully.”
“How do I get there? How can I find you?”
“We will see each other soon enough. I do not need dreamscape to know that we are still alive to fulfill the Sultan’s desires. I have managed to resist his . . . powers of persuasion. That is, until they threaten you before me.”
“Darya, he came to me.”
“I know.”
“He will use you. All of your powers – especially your ability to dreamscape – to study his enemies, train his spies, and further his empire. Whatever happens to me, you can’t let him.”
“I’ll continue to resist. But if they hurt you . . .”
“I can take it.”
“Asha.”
“You don’t worry about me. It is as your brother said; you are the one worth saving. We need to figure out a way to get you out of there.”
“Please! Listen!”
Ashallah quieted her thoughts. She felt at once sadness, regret, and melancholy. Not her own. That of Darya.
“I know more than the Sultan suspects. Much more. About him. His jinn. All my turquoise brothers and sisters. And you.”
“I do not doubt that. Your powers are strong.”
“When we sought you out, Rahim advised that I share my dreams – my knowledge, the memories of the distant past, all of it – with you. I protested because I knew better. At least, I thought I knew better. I chose instead to wait until you realized the extent of your own latent abilities. You are just discovering them now, which is why we have a connection. Why you were able to hear me through the floors and walls of the library. Why you and I are able to speak to each other. Now.
“Yet here we are. I fear I waited too long. It would have been best had I revealed the truth my brother urged me to share.”
Had Darya been any other who had hidden a secret or concealed a detail from her, Ashallah would have thought better of trusting her further. Battle after battle had a way of sowing apprehension into the best of warriors, and Ashallah was no exception. Even in dreamscaping, Ashallah could sense a gentle tone in Darya’s words. A plea. A longing to be understood. A bond, a strong one, for all that they had endured in their short time together.
“What is it?” Ashallah dared to ask.
Rose-colored jasmine petals fluttered in the soft wind, showering Niyusha in a rain of fragrance and beauty. She closed her eyes. She breathed. Deeply. Then she exhaled.
Upon opening her eyes, she caught sight of the tip of a halberd above the manicured bush. Another followed, some ten paces back, at the same speed and tempo. Though she could not see, she knew who strolled in between.
Niyusha bowed her head before he even rounded the corner. She kept her head down even as she saw his shadow descend on her painted feet and the long dress that wrapped around her legs. She could smell him. The musk and orangewood of his cologne masked his sweat, but she could still smell it. Especially when he extended his index finger to her chin to lift her gaze to his.
She glanced at his face before averting her gaze. He was not unattractive by any means. Yet every part of his face lacked warmth, sending a chill that quieted her soul.
The blunt taps of wood on stone came to each side of Niyusha. She knew what she must do.
The warmth of the path beneath her feet provided her no comfort. Nor did the soft furs that lined the floor of the Sultan’s residence. Neither did the silk sheets of the Sultan’s bed. None of it could distract her or take away the feeling of him inside. Entering. Withdrawing. Thrusting. Over and again.
When his essence had been spent, and Niyusha was finally able to rise, she went to retrieve her clothes before going to the basin to wash.
“Don’t bother dressing,” commanded the Sultan. “I will want you again soon enough.”
Out of habit, she bowed her head, although she had her back to him. She peeked over her shoulder to find that he too had faced away, as he poured himself a glass of pomegranate wine.
Relieved to be away from his stare, if only for a moment, Niyusha reached for the sponge to wash her face and neck. She allowed the desert heat and air to dry her body as she reached for her makeup from the pocket of her dress.
She glanced over her shoulder once more, making sure the Sultan was paying no mind. She inched into the relative cover of a nearby column, whose shadow fell over her. Hurriedly, she dabbed her fingers into a clay jar of concealer. She spread it over the whole of her chest, just above her breasts. In doing so, a thin streak of her skin emerged. One of turquoise.180Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrYEccix2p1
