The Jinn Daughter, page 12
And so the mage left the princess, the chain still dangling in her hand.
That night, the princess slept with the stone under her pillow, and that night she dreamt of a town she’d never even heard of before. The town was three, four, five, six times larger than her own. It boasted houses and buildings steepled in blues and golds, greens, purples. The townspeople were just as fine, with their brightly colored clothes, their decadent furs, their faces painted with rouge and kohl.
When the princess awoke, she found herself longing for that town. “It was just a dream,” she told herself, but she found herself impatient for the night to come, even though it was still morning and she’d only just woken.
The day passed slowly for her, and as soon as night came, the princess threw herself into her bed and closed her eyes to sleep.
This night’s dream told of a land far, far away from hers, where horses were used to pull carriages through a city, rather than in the farms. The people in this dream were finer than those in the last, and they wore brighter colors with intricate cuts of their clothes. They wore jewels and gold, silver and more. And they sparkled in all their splendor.
The morning left the princess aching for that land, to visit it, to see it, to smell it, and most of all, to wear what those people wore.
She waited for nightfall and soon found herself once more, asleep. That night, she dreamt of another land, this one filled with handsome princes and fine castles. The princess saw herself watching the castles from afar, and even in her dream, her longing to enter the castles grew to an ache. She awoke upset and flustered and tore the necklace from under her pillow. She threw it into the fire, cursing at it for making her unhappy with her life, for now her little hut seemed small and ugly in comparison to the lands she was seeing in her dreams.
But that night, the princess found herself pulling the stone out of the fire and cooling it before laying it back under her pillow. And again, that night, she dreamt of lands far, far away, with colors brighter than she’d ever seen and people more beautiful than she could imagine.
And so, the fortnight passed.
On the appointed night, the mage returned.
“So, little amira, what do you think? Shall I whisk you off to lands far, far away? Or shall I leave you here, content in your little hut and garden?”
The princess hesitated, for though she loved her home and the people she knew, the lands in her dreams called to her and an ache gnawed in her belly.
“Take me to them,” the princess finally said. “I want to see more of this life.”
The mage smiled and held his hand out for the necklace. The princess gave it to him, and he clasped it back around his neck.
“A life not lived in splendor is not a life lived,” the mage said, now offering his hand to her. “And I will give you splendor, and more, little amira.”
The princess reached out her hand to the mage, but pulled it back right before their fingers touched. “Why me?” she asked. “And why now?”
“Your time has come, little amira. Your family has called for you to return to them.”
“My family?”
The mage nodded. “Your family which has been kept away from you; they have called for your return.”
“My family,” the princess mused. “I didn’t know I had any.”
“Ah, but you do, little amira. An old wicked witch kept you from them, but your family called upon me to bring you back to them. But they only want you back if you want to be with them.”
“The places in my dreams, they are where my family are?”
The mage nodded. “You will have riches and splendor, castles and balls, gowns and jewels, and so much more. You will have your birthright, little amira. That and so much more.”
When I’m done telling her the story, I make sure she’s tucked in tight and lean over to kiss her cheek. She smells of honey and oils, but there’s something missing, something of her own scent that isn’t there.
I choke back a sob and turn to the jar with her seed in it. I will eat the dirt of a grave, drink the water of the river of death, and even drain my blood, if that’s what it takes to bring my baby back.
But first, I need a sacrifice.
20
“He’s not here presently,” the manservant says, but I push past him. My shoulder bumps into his and he coils away, as if struck by a snake.
“I’ll wait for him then,” I say as I make my way down the hall to the sheikh’s study. I knock once and hear a gruff voice telling me to come in.
“Not home?” I snap, shooting the manservant a look as I open the study’s door. The manservant glares at me.
Abu Illyas’s face turns sour when he recognizes me. “You,” he says.
“Yes, me.” I don’t wait for him to offer me a chair. I take the one before his desk and sit, staring at him. He’s hunched in his chair, his hands folded on the desk. But he’s staring at me with those cold snake eyes. I hold his gaze evenly.
“What do you want?”
“Layala is dead. She drowned in the river.”
I give him a moment to let the thought sink in. And just as he opens his mouth—no doubt to blame me—I interrupt.
“I need a sacrifice.”
He knows what I mean.
I notice Sheikh Hamadi’s throat rise and fall as he swallows. “A sacrifice. I won’t do it, jinn. You should have—”
“You have one day to decide. You and I are the last ones alive who care for her, who could be a sacrifice.”
“Then why don’t you die for her?” He points a finger at me. “She is your child.”
“And your grandchild. If I were to be the sacrifice, then who would raise her? No,” I shake my head, “you need me alive to do the raising.”
“I will never die for you, jinn!” Abu Illyas shouts, jumping to his feet. “For you, never!”
My voice is cool and even. “It’s not for me, it’s for Layl.”
He blinks in surprise, as if only now considering what I am truly asking, what this means for Layala.
“Your sacrifice would bring Layala back.”
“And if you fail to bring her back?”
“I wouldn’t.”
He clears his throat and stares down his nose at me. “How could she drown? Where were you to prevent this?”
I don’t reply.
“You should die, jinn, for all the trouble you’ve caused me. I should drown you myself.”
You think I don’t want to die, now that my child is dead, you old fool? But if I’m dead, she will remain dead.
“I would die for her, but it would be too much—”
“Too much for who, jinn?” the sheikh says with a sneer. “You should die for your child, for the danger you’ve put her in. It’s because of you,” he says, pointing a sharp finger at me, “because of you she is now dead.”
“I will bring her back,” I insist. “With your sacrifice.”
“You’ve struck whatever deal with Death or with the devil or whomever to even be able to have your dealings with death. But I’ll have no part in it.” He waves the air in front of his face, as if clearing it of his words. “You die to bring Layl back, and I will take her in. She’ll be where she belongs.”
“You don’t understand, old man,” I say, my temper rising. “Layala is dead.”
“Get out, jinn.”
“Layala is dead because—”
“I said, get out!”
I’m slamming my fist against his desk before I realize what I’m doing. The old man jumps, startled, and I force my voice to sound even, calm.
“I can bring Layala back. But there is only one way to do this. A willing sacrifice.” My words are slow, clear. He has to understand.
Abu Illyas eyes me sharply, then slumps back into his seat. “There is … no … other way?”
He studies me through his bushy brows, his thin lips pursed tight enough they’re a white slit across his face.
I shake my head.
His body stiffens, even as his face falls.
Finally, he says, “And if I … die? If I die, she will be safe? She will be cared for? How?”
“Just as she always has been—by her mother.”
His cheeks flush red in anger. “You were never a mother, jinn. She died before, and now again, under your eye, under your care. I should have imprisoned—”
“Should have, would have, it doesn’t matter. We’re both here now, and Layala is lying dead in her cot.”
Abu Illyas says nothing for several breaths, his face draining of color with each exhale. “I have lived many years, many of them alone. I have no one left but Layala to care for.” His chin quivers for a moment, but then he clenches his jaw and steels it once more. “I will do it, jinn. For Layala, not for you.”
“I know it’s for Layl.”
The sheikh turns his back to me as he says, “Leave me be. Come back in the morning. I will have all my papers organized. The estate, inheritance, everything, I leave for Layala. She will want for nothing. She will live here and be cared for by the servants.”
“Shukran,” I say, my voice catching. “I … Layala—” I take a deep breath and continue. “She may never forgive me for sacrificing you,” I say.
He understands my meaning. “I will write her a note and tell her I would sacrifice my last breath, my last drop of blood, for her, over and over again.”
I nod, my chin and jaw aching trying not to cry. “Shukran, Abu Illyas. Sheikh Hamadi.”
“You’re not welcome. Now leave.”
21
I stumble back to my house. My baby is still in her cot, though I half-hoped I would find her puttering about the house, making a pot of tea and telling me, “Maman, look, it was just a bit of water.”
But my daughter is still dead, and I still hold her soul seed. This is not a nightmare I can wake up from.
I wonder, for just a single, mournful breath, What would her soul’s story be?
But that is not something I ever want to know, because it would mean she is dead, fully dead, and could never be raised again.
I don’t have the energy to try visiting death, to find Illyas and tell him. I’m not sure I could even get into death regardless, not with Kamuna’s death seed rotting. Instead, I rub my daughter’s limbs with more oil, tuck the blankets around her, and lie down beside her, wrapping my arms around her still body. I am asleep before I’ve taken several breaths.
The morning wakes me with heavy knocks on my door.
I slip out of bed, not wanting to move away from Layala, but also wanting to open the banging door, if only to make the noise stop.
“Coming, coming,” I say over the riot of a pounding fist.
I open the door, half-expecting to see Abu Illyas standing before me. But it’s not him, or his servant, or anyone from his house.
It’s three of the town’s guards, with faces set as grim as tombstones.
“We are here to arrest you on charges of—”
“Arrest me? What, no!” I say, but the guard continues as if I’ve said nothing.
“—on charges of murder, attempted murder, and deceit of a high-ranking townsman. You will appear in court in two days’ time, where you will be tried before—”
“Sheikh Hamadi sent you, didn’t he?” I interrupt.
The guard says nothing, but the two behind him move forward to grab me.
“I don’t have time for this,” I say, putting my hands out to stop them. They freeze, just like the ghoul’s wolf did, and before either of them can blink, they’re clay figurines.
The first guard opens his mouth and closes it like a fish stolen from the sea.
“You next,” I say, and turn him into clay. The last of my energy used, I slump forward, stumbling before righting myself.
I pick up all three and, though I want to smash them to pieces, I set them onto the table. I’m tired, my bones feeling too heavy to carry. And I think, I should not have done this. I as good as killed them; I cannot raise them from clay. Cannot bring them back. Animals can be brought back, but humans, humans have a soul that cannot be threaded so easily back into bone and blood.
Guilt settles like a rock in my stomach. I defended myself and my child, and not a drop of blood spilled. I did what any mother would have done.
I turn to my child, her face so pale, her limbs too stiff, lips far too blue. “Well, Layl,” I say, “it seems your jido has broken his promise.”
With no other options, I shut the door, still talking to Layala as if she can hear me. “I will find a willing sacrifice. But first, I must speak to your grandfather.” I gather the clay guards, throw them into a pack, and with a piece of bread in my hand to keep my strength up, I leave the house and Layl behind, making sure the door is locked, checking it once, then twice.
Then I make my way to Sheikh Hamadi’s house, the clay figurines clinking in my pack.
As I draw closer to town, I shield my face with the hood of my cloak. No doubt Sheikh Hamadi has alerted half the town already on my supposed attempted murder.
“The idiot,” I say to myself. “Does he think he can raise Layala on his own, without her mother?”
I get to his house, but I don’t step up to the front gates. I take the back, the servants’ corridor, and sneak in the way Illyas and I used to sneak out when we were younger.
The servants don’t take notice of me, busy as they are prepping what looks to be a large meal.
I slip by, clinging to walls and keeping my head down.
Once inside the main section of the house, I sneak down the halls and make my way to the east wing. There’s a room there, filled with family heirlooms, daggers and old swords. I take a few, tucking one under my cloak, another at my hip, and slip a dagger into my boot.
The room has a second door, a hidden one, noticeable only if you know where to look. I press on the wall, and part of it creaks open.
A musty draft hits me, and it smells faintly of cooking oils and herbs coming from the kitchen and the old stone and earth of the house itself.
I shut the door behind me and follow the tunnel to Sheikh Hamadi’s study.
There are raised voices when I get there, the sheikh’s and another man’s. I cock my head to the side to hear better. No, two other men, at least. I press my ear to the wall, trying to hear through the stone.
“She has never caused us trouble,” one of the men say.
“She is a jinn, and all jinns are trouble!” Sheikh Hamadi says. “She murdered my granddaughter—”
“Are you sure she did it? Why would she come to you if she did?”
“I told you, she wanted me to come to the house. She wants to kill me. She was trying to lure me—”
“Why didn’t you call the town guards immediately? Why wait until this morning?”
“I-I was making sure my affairs were in order, if anything were to happen.”
“And where is the girl, then? Why didn’t you send guards to get the girl?”
“I … Layala … I …”
It was the first time I’d heard Sheikh Hamadi blubber. I let myself enjoy it for a moment before turning my attention back to what the men are saying.
“Where is the girl, Sheikh?”
“At the jinn’s lair, no doubt. Or in a grave.”
“We’ve already sent three men to get the jinn,” the third man says. “They were ordered to retrieve the girl as well and bring her here.”
“I want that jinn dead,” Sheikh Hamadi says. “Like the rest of her kind should be.”
“Once the girl is safe—”
“The jinn said she’s dead!” he interrupted.
“Again, why wait until morning to send guards?”
I hold my breath, waiting for an answer.
“I assumed the jinn was lying about her death. I thought Layala would see through the jinn’s doing and come to me. It would have been easier to claim custody of her, like I should have years ago when my son died at that jinn’s hands!” A fist slams on a table and I assume it’s Abu Illyas’s.
“With respect, Sheikh, but did Illyas, did he not die for his child? My own father, before he died, told me—”
“That girl would never have died in the first place if that jinn—”
“You just said you assumed she wasn’t dead, Sheikh,” the second man says.
“I should have said I hoped she wasn’t dead,” Abu Illyas starts.
The first man interrupts. “That jinn told my father’s story. I still remember it. I went to her, three days after we buried him. And she told me she captured the story, because she knew him. She wrote down his story. I still have it.”
“That jinn deceives and betrays,” Sheikh Hamadi says. “She took my son from me, she seduced him and forced him to stay with her once her child was born. And then she seduced him again, convincing him to kill himself.”
The man lowers his voice. “With all respect, Sheikh, they were young.”
I don’t catch what Sheikh Hamadi says, but I catch the mood in his voice.
“I want her dead!” I hear finally. “Dead and burned so she could never be raised!”
“I cannot order the killing of Nadine—of the Hakawati, without proof of ill doing,” the man says.
“I agree,” the second man says. “We have a law to uphold, and we do so with justice.”
“Ach,” Sheikh Hamadi says, and I hear things being flung across the room. “Your law is worthless to me!”
“Then why call for us and our guards before the sun has barely opened its eyes? You were keen on sending guards to arrest the Hakawati.”
“I thought you fools would do something!”
“We are. We are upholding our law.”
“Damn you and your law. I’ll do it myself.”
A few moments later, the stone wall of the tunnel shakes as a door slams.
The men say something to each other, and then I hear the door shut again, gentler this time.
I creep back to the weapons room, but as I’m opening the door, I spot movement inside.
It’s the sheikh. I’m not the only one who decided to arm themselves with the family weapons. When he leaves the room, I pad out of the tunnel, opening the door just enough to look through a crack before barreling back through the servants’ way.
