The Grand Sultan had done the impossible.
Within months, a sleepy port town had grown into a metropolis. Dust that had once moved freely by the will of the wind was now trampled underfoot, stirred into the air by wheels, feet, and hooves. Where shacks of palm and driftwood once stood rose edifices of granite and marble, guarded by statues and obelisks proclaiming the city to be the feat of Jaha’s Chosen One: The Grand Sultan.
All newcomers to the city of Ditra spent some measure of their time marveling at the spectacle of it all. Architects and engineers from the far corners of the Dylian Empire and beyond craned their necks to admire the monuments and buildings, wondering how to outshine that which rose above them. Workers – bricklayers, masons, roofers and more – were even more impressed as they studied their many comrades on the network of scaffolding that appeared never-ending through much of the city. Concubines, merchants, sailors, and imams expressed the same awe, each varied in their own unique ways. Even soldiers and generals, not accustomed to showing their excitement, stared in wonder.
All except Ashallah, who kept her head bowed, her spirit still broken.
“How could it be?” she asked, knowing that her voice remained silenced, that her words stayed unheard. She made every conscious effort to speak, to scream, to yell. Especially after Darya’s dreamscape had revealed the truth about her mother. Darya had pleaded for her forgiveness once Ashallah had experienced her ommah’s past. Ashallah had wanted none of it, lifting her palms from the ground to jump to her feet. Though sick, she made a vain effort to escape. Not necessarily away from the caravan, but from the newest of her memories.
Her attempt to break away was a clumsy affair. Her legs wobbled under her weakened body. Her mind - clouded by the remnants of dreamscape – led her on a haphazard path. The soldiers soon descended on her as four lifted her with ease though she flailed. Like a girl’s doll, they tossed her back in her wheeled cage, the whole of her landing with a thud. There she stayed, only pausing to find the support of the cage bars against her back, as the caravan traversed the sand into the port that would launch the Sultan’s armada unto the rest of the world.
The soldiers shoved all aside to clear a path for the caravan as it snaked through Ditra. Only when a herd of work elephants blocked their way did the procession pause. With that stop, the vendors and beggars who had been trailing the line swarmed in to extend their wares and hands. So desperate were these mouths and arms of desperation and poverty that some even approached Ashallah. She reacted to none.
“Away with you! All of you!” cried the stout soldier who still served as her retinue. The burgeoning crowd paid no heed to his demands as some in the caravan indulged in the newfound attention. More came to encircle every wagon and mount. The soldier turned to usher one away when two more appeared at his side. One carried a hen, which flapped its wings in his face to cause a stir and attract some laughs from the crowd.
At that insult, the soldier drew his short sword. “I’ll gut the lot of you!” he warned. The effects of his threats were lost on many, though, who simply turned their attention to customers actually willing to buy. Their insolence only enraged him further as he climbed the seat of the wagon to shout commands that went unnoticed.
For all of his posturing, Ashallah did not bother to gander in his direction. As before, when the caravan traversed the desert and then entered the city, the outside world mattered not.
“You’ve come a long way, sister of midnight.”
Ashallah nearly believed that the voice was inside her thoughts. That is, until a small blade clatter on the baseboards of the wagon.
Like a nugget of gold in a sea of sand, it glistened. At this, Ashallah did not hesitate. She leaped upon it, her hand scooping it up before any around her could be certain of what it was.
“Ha!” The sharp laugh erupted from the crowd, the tone rising above all the other commotion. Ashallah scanned the many faces. None matched the source.
“You’re looking too much,” said the voice that had bellowed the laugh, this time with less volume. That voice was of a familiar acquaintance from a not so distant past.
Ashallah spotted one in a yellow hijab and abaya, whose back was to her.
“Word amongst the caravan is that you are a mute. Tap the bars twice if yes.”
She did so, not knowing if the woman in yellow was friend or foe.
“To your left, while the soldier wasn’t looking, I placed a pinch of powder. Do you see it?”
Ashallah searched the wagon’s edge, where the bars penetrated the wood. In between the gaps of two in the center, she spotted a tiny mound of red and black dust.
“Eat it now.”
She knew that if the Sultan or any of his cohorts wanted her dead, this would be the last way in which to end her life. Poison for traitors was hardly a way to make an example for his subjects. With nothing to lose but all of her doubt and her last shred of life, Ashallah pinched the dust between her fingertips and put it in her mouth.
An array of spices tingled her senses. It started at her tongue and spread throughout. Unlike the black clouds of the Sultan’s palace or the coastal dogbane, the granules had a soothing, calming effect. Like fresh spring water quenching a days-long thirst, the feeling was a godsend. Ashallah felt every muscle in her loosen, and then strengthen. She wanted to sigh.
“Ahhh,” she finally said.
At that, she perked. Her lips curled into a grin.
“It is a rare commodity, what you just ate. Some say the rarest: the remnants of a jinni. Not quite ashes nor flesh. Only the purest essence of Jaha’s soldiers,” stated the woman in yellow. “Feels good, does it not?”
“It does.” Ashallah shot a glance to the stout soldier, whose commands grew softer in tone as the crowd around him dissipated. “You must step away from here,” Ashallah urged the woman. “It is not safe.”
The one in yellow remained firm in her place. “A distraction has been arranged.”
As though on cue, the air cracked as a plume of ash and dust catapulted three stories high by a building a block ahead. That sent the bystanders closest to the explosion scattering in chaos. Ashallah jumped to her feet to catch a glimpse at the sight. The soldiers nearby rushed to the scene to assess the situation. All left their posts, including the stout one and any others by Ashallah.
“Fear not,” said the woman in yellow. She turned to face Ashallah. “The distraction hurt none of the innocent. It was dust. That is all.”
Ashallah studied the woman’s eyes. She considered her voice. The whole of her seemed so familiar.
The woman looked about her. Convinced that no one was looking in her direction, she took a chance and lifted her veil for a split second.
“Thwayya?” Ashallah blurted.
“Commander.”
“You’re here? But how?”
“Like I always say, I’m lucky in that way.” Thwayya nodded to the small blade in Ashallah’s hand. “Maybe you should . . .”
Ashallah noticed the hint and tucked the small blade into her waistband. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”
“Serving a better cause. Or at least that is what I’ve been told.”
“By who?”
“Vega.”
Ashallah cocked her head, stunned. “Her?”
“I know that you two have had your differences, but she – and I – were swayed by one who convinced us of a new cause. One with the bluest of eyes.”
“Darya.”
“She was very convincing. At first, Vega, the others and I believed she had only approached the sisters of midnight. Then in hushed voices and whispers, word began to spread that she had spoken to others as well. Many women. Even a few men.”
“Men?”
“Well, of sorts.” Thwayya made a cutting motion with the flick of her wrist. “Your friends from the catacombs.”
“Eunuchs.”
“Like women, they too grow tired of hiding their true selves. Word is that a woman who bore skin of turquoise convinced them of our cause. They were impressed by how persistent she was.”
“That sounds like her.”
“Her words managed to unite so many of us. Midnight warriors with Kafan sisters or the Abaya with the Rosil.”
“And now you are here? How many?”
“We spread out and attached ourselves to the caravans heading into the city. Not enough for an army, mind you. But adequate for whatever this Darya has planned. A few hundred, I suppose.”
A few hundred, Ashallah considered. Would that be enough? Though she had not paid much attention, Ashallah’s peripheral vision allowed her to notice the guards at the city gate and each entry point as their caravan wound its way through the masses. She figured their band of travelers alone had managed to pass a few hundred, and those were just guards and street soldiers. The Grand Sultan would have many posted throughout the city, not to mention the barracks, shipyards and palatial residences undoubtedly located within its confines.
Still, only moments before Ashallah had believed herself alone, separated from Rahim and Darya. Without the Firstborne. The Tirkhan. The benefit of any ally. A few hundred. Some midnight warriors. Others unarmed and untrained. A motley crew at best. Though quite possibly enough.
Ashallah, determined, grabbed the bars to focus on Thwayya. “Your plan?”
“To find you. And the blue-eyed one. Then marshal others to our cause.”
“That’s not much.”
“It’s a start. Where is the other?”
“Darya will not be so exposed. She is underground, I believe, well hidden until the right moment. The Sultan needs her too much.”
“Maybe not. She may have been transported like you. And you were easy enough to find.”
“I was just a pawn in his submission of her.” Ashallah paused, thinking. “That must have been why I was separated from her and Rahim. The Sultan kept us apart. Not only so that we may not conspire together, but that Darya would see me missing, and grow anxious. He was counting on that, to worry her and weaken her spirit, not mine. I was never so important in his eyes.”
“At least I can help you to escape.”
“No.”
“What?”
“They will notice me gone when they return. They were under strict instructions by the Grand Sultan to get me here. If I am missing, then they will send out a search party. They may even call upon their janissaries and turquoise. Even their jinn.”
Thwayya leaned in, whispered. “It is not safe for you here.”
Ashallah grinned in response. “You did well, my sister-in-arms. More than you know. Because of you, I can speak. I even have a blade, however small. Trust me, I am well-prepared.”
“What shall I do? What do I tell the others?”
“Fall back . . . Gather the others. Assign some to keep watch on this caravan. Wherever I am to be taken, eventually it will lead to Darya. I have no idea when. But when I reach my destination, stay hidden yet close. For I will need to count on your support once again.”
“You!” cried the stout soldier as he returned.
Ashallah quieted. As did Thwayya. With a nod, Thwayya withdrew to retreat into the crowd. Within a moment, her yellow hijab disappeared from sight.
With a thwack, the soldier’s short sword hit the wagon bars. “What do you think you’re doing, you mute bitch?”
Ashallah cowered from the bars, fighting the urge to respond with an insult of her own.
“Still nothing to say? Pity the Sultan wants you for himself. Me and some of the boys could do things sure to make you talk And scream.”
The soldier sauntered to the front of the wagon, chuckling at his own joke. Ashallah watched after him, her hand caressing the slight indentation in her waistline where the blade laid secure.
If I have the chance, she told herself, he will be the first one I gut.204Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1pbFM3MlAs
