The Jinn Daughter, page 9
“Yes, you would,” Kamuna says. “And here I am offering you three more days. You have had thirteen more years than you were meant to live. That is more than my daughter got when she died at just about your age now, Layala.” Kamuna’s chest is heaving, her face twisted in anger.
“Why now?” I ask. “Why have you come for her now? Why is your soul seed sick now?”
“My time has come, Hakawati, and frankly, I couldn’t be happier.”
“Happier?” I gawk at her. “You’re taking my child’s life—”
“I gave her life, remember. I am taking what I gave.”
“Take it later! Take it years and years and years from now!”
“Without me, you wouldn’t have a child,” Kamuna points out. “I should have let her stay dead, but I showed you mercy and gave you your child back. Without me, she’d have rotted in her grave years ago instead of living, breathing, right beside you. You had a chance to be a mother. Let me have my chance and return to my child.”
“Please, Kamuna, leave Layala alone.”
“I cannot!” she screams back. “I am dying! And Death itself cannot live without a ruler’s magic to keep it in place.”
“Find someone else!”
“There is no other, Hakawati! There is no other.”
“I will do it, maman,” Layala says softly.
“See? The girl is willing,” Kamuna says.
“I want my child to have known love and have tasted all that life has to offer. She’s seen barely more than a dozen turnings of the sun.” I soften my voice and reach my hands out a bit toward Death, not quite touching, but close. “Please,” I whisper. “Make me the next Death but return Layala her life.”
Her face softens a bit, and a finger twitches.
I whisper breathlessly. “From one mother to another, let me make a mother’s sacrifice and give my life for my child’s.”
Kamuna sucks air through her teeth, as if considering what I’m saying.
Then her face hardens, and she searches mine with her dark eyes. I try to make my expression as open as possible. There is no guile here, only grief. I will her to recognize that.
“It won’t work, Hakawati.”
“What if I can heal your soul seed?” I blurt.
Kamuna blinks. “How?”
“I don’t know. But what if I could?”
She sighs. “Truly, Hakawati, I am ready to die. I am ready to pass on to Mote and pass my daughter on with me. I want to be with her again.”
I pause. “Pass your daughter on? I thought she died—”
Kamuna interrupts. “I preserved her soul seed and body in death’s holding waters, in case I could ever find a willing sacrifice to raise her with.” Her voice drops. “But I never could.”
My thoughts are clotted, and I can’t think straight. “There has to be a way.”
“There is not, Hakawati,” Kamuna says, her voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “I am sorry. But my time has come, and your daughter’s, too. You have three days.”
A knock sounds at the door.
“Who could that be now!” I scream out in exasperation.
I fling open the door and find Rami standing there, a bag slung over his shoulder.
“Jinn!” Kamuna shrieks, pushing past me. “Go from here. You’re not welcome.”
He glances between us. “What is going on?” he asks, his eyes wide, like a doe’s. He’s flicking his gaze between Kamuna, me, and Layala.
“Rami!” Layala says.
“Layl? Are you alright?”
Her chin quivers, but she nods. “It’s good you came by. I’ll be gone in three days.”
“Gone? Where?”
“Nowhere,” Kamuna and I say at the same time.
“It doesn’t concern you,” I add.
“Death,” Layala cuts in. “I am to die in three days and take over as Death.”
Rami blinks and stumbles back. “What?”
“Oh, hush,” Kamuna says to him. “I’ve had enough of you.”
“Take your place as Death?” he says to Kamuna. “When I myself have asked countless times to take on your mantle?”
“You’ve what!” I whip around to face Kamuna. “You have a willing soul here to take your mantle, and you would kill my child instead?”
I strangle the urge to rush at her, to stab her, to choke her, to harm her in some way and get her out of our lives.
“Yes,” Kamuna says. “He is not worthy.”
I ignore her. “Are you death-touched?” I ask Rami.
“Yes. I died as a child, and my mother had me resurrected.”
Kamuna doesn’t meet my gaze.
“Take him,” I say. “Take him and leave my child alone.”
“No.”
“But I don’t understand,” I say. “He is willing.”
“He killed my child! He killed my Sayil! And you expect me to simply hand him the keys to my realm as some favor?”
“Then make it be his atonement! He will die to bring Sayil back! It won’t be a favor, it would be an offering. You get what you want, and he gets what he wants, and Layala isn’t harmed in any of it.”
“He killed my child, Hakawati. He pushed her in a river, and she drowned.”
“It was an accident,” Rami insists. “And it was so many moons ago, so many years have passed.”
“And none of them with my Sayil alive during any of it,” Kamuna says. “Because of you.” She jabs her finger into his chest.
“Would you be a sacrifice?” I say to Rami. “To raise Sayil.”
“But my family …”
“Is dead to you. Your own mother wouldn’t lift a finger to help you. You are alone in this world, Rami. You can’t even show your face to people or they would kill you. You are also on borrowed time,” Kamuna says.
“I-I don’t want …” Rami stutters.
Kamuna snorts. “He thinks of no one but himself. But, Hakawati, even if you raised Sayil, then what? I would still have to pass my mantle to someone.”
It hits her then. She realizes what I intended all along.
“You want me to pass my mantle on to her.”
I nod. “Sayil can take your place, and I could keep your soul so that you do not go past the gates of Mote. You and your daughter would be reunited, even if in death.”
Kamuna purses her lips, then glances at Rami.
“You could do that?” she asks me.
“I could try, yes, if I had a willing sacrifice to raise Sayil with.”
“I won’t do it,” Rami says. “I will not die—”
“I will raise your family,” Kamuna says, interrupting.
“You said you couldn’t,” Rami begins.
“I lied.”
He narrows his eyes at her. “You’re lying now.”
“Not at all,” Death says. “Give me one of them. I will raise them from their clay prison.”
“But you would need a sacrifice.”
“Their souls are intact, no? They are still alive, only imprisoned. Only the dead need true resurrection and a sacrifice.”
Rami sniffs. “All this time, you could have raised my family, and yet you didn’t.”
“Yes.”
He shrugs. “Why would I help you now?” He shakes his head and turns away, already moving out the door.
“You will help now,” Death says, “because that is the only way to get what you want. You have spent a lifetime trying to raise your father, your cousins, your siblings, and you have failed. I am giving you the chance to do so now.”
“I would die,” he says, but his eyes show cunning. “I would die, but they would live,” he mutters, more to himself.
“And Sayil would be resurrected,” I say. “You could redeem yourself, your life for hers.”
Rami blinks and takes a step back.
“You can’t do this to him,” Layala says, as if unfreezing from the moment. “It is my time to die, not his.” But her voice is weak; she’s shivering on her feet.
He eyes Layala, who’s standing with her arms hugging her body. But her head is high and her eyes bore right into Rami’s.
“Stay out of this, Layl,” he says.
He looks at me now. “I came by to see you, Hakawati, to see if you would reconsider my request.”
I shake my head. “If I could, I would have done so already.”
He sets his bag down now, clay clinking inside, and pulls out one figurine.
“Do it,” he says to Kamuna. “Raise my father.”
Death takes the small clay figure of a man from him and inspects it. “Handsome,” she says finally, then sets it down at her feet. She bends at the waist and presses her palms against the figurine, enveloping it. Her eyes flutter, and she chants in a language I am sure has never been human.
And then she steps back. The figurine topples over and my heart clenches, expecting the clay to shatter into pieces.
Instead, it stretches and widens, as dough does when a rolling pin is taken to it.
“There,” Kamuna says. “See what a little earth magic can do?”
A man stands before us, his hair tipped in fire, his body glazed in ash. His skin is the color of the earth after a spring rain, and his eyes are the same shade of green as the ivy clinging to my cottage walls.
“Baba?” Rami whispers, stretching out his hand to his father. His father blinks once, twice, and stumbles forward, his son catching him.
“Sit, sit,” I say, and Layala runs to get a chair for the man.
“Rami,” the man croaks, and as soon as his body touches the wood of the chair, he turns to clay again.
Kamuna snatches the figurine and pockets it.
“No!” Rami screams and lunges for her. “Please, that was my father, please.” His voice quivers, and he looks as if ready to drop to his knees and beg.
But she shoves him back and turns her body away from him. “You’ve seen what my magic can do.”
“Raise him back!” Rami pleads. He’s crying now, tears streaming down his face. He’s on his knees before Kamuna, reaching out for the skim of her cloak. “I have no one left,” he says. “Bring him back to me.”
“Not until Sayil is warm and alive in my arms,” Kamuna answers coldly. “I will keep your father for safekeeping until then.”
She raises an eyebrow at Rami as he eyes the pocket his father is in, and for a breath, I think he is going to try to reach for it.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he rises to his feet. He lifts his head, his chin straight and proud. “I will do it, for my family. But I will need a day.”
“A day for what, jinn?” Kamuna asks.
“Let him be,” I say, relief flooding me. Layala is going to live. Layala is going to live. My daughter will live.
Kamuna stares at Rami, then frowns. “One day.”
Rami bows his head, then slings his bag over his shoulder. “Shukran,” he says. “My family means more to me than anything.”
The moment he disappears from our view, Kamuna shakes her head. “I don’t trust him as far as I can spit.” She turns her gaze to me. “You. You have work to do.”
15
Kamuna leaves, and Layala curls up before the fire, blanket around her shoulders.
“I don’t want to die,” she says, not looking at me. “But I don’t think Rami should die, either.”
“He’s made his choice, Layl.”
She turns to look back at me. “Has he? Or was he forced into a choice because I’m too cowardly to accept my fate?”
“No. You are not a coward. You are young, and strong, and healthy, and worthy of the life you have.”
“I should be dead.”
“You should be nothing but what you are now. Alive.”
Layala turns back to the fire. “I shouldn’t be alive. I died thirteen years ago.”
“And you were brought back, Layl,” I plead, my voice rising desperately. I settle in beside her and pull her in to me. But she leans away and doesn’t look me in the eye.
“It’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair, Layl?”
Her eyes flick up to mine, rimmed in red. “It’s not fair. Entire families slaughtered in their beds, in their homes, even their palaces, or imprisoned. And I was resurrected because my mother is Hakawati.”
“That is life, Layl. The lucky and the unlucky walk the earth just the same.”
“I could—could I go with you?” she suggests. “Into death, help you heal the soul seed?”
“You could do a lot of things, but not all of them would be prudent.”
“You need me,” she says. “To watch out for you. I’m old enough, maman.”
I gently touch her cheek but shake my head. “I love how you want to be by my side, but this is my job, as Hakawati, to fix. Not yours.”
“But when you die …” She flinches at the thought. “When you die, there’s no one to take your Hakawati role. I’m not trained for it, but I could be.”
“Oh, hiyati, I wish. You’d make a great one. But you have human blood,” I say as gently as I can. “You need full jinn magic to be a hakawati.”
Something flashes across her face, a glint in her eyes and a setting of her mouth I’ve never seen before.
“You have a role, a purpose in life. What do I have?”
My breath hitches in my throat at the force of her words. “You have the freedom to be anything you want to be, Layl. That is a greater gift than you think,” I say.
“I want to be Hakawati. I want to be like you.”
“Layl,” I say. “You have the world in your hand. You’re young and smart and fiery. And I love that about you. You have your own role in life, I promise you that. But yours is different from mine, which is different from the next person.” I draw her in close so I can plait her hair. “You are the most important, greatest gift of my life. I can’t let anything happen to you.”
She hangs her head and I tug at the plait to tighten it. “I wish … Couldn’t you teach me your magic? Can’t you show me how to do—”
I sigh, pulling her into my side. “It doesn’t work like that. You are either born with magic or you are not.”
“Maybe my magic is late, or-or it’s different than yours, or …” Her voice strains, searching, latching onto any answer. “Death thinks I have—”
I interrupt her. “Half jinns rarely have magic, or strong magic, at least. Besides, being human is its own kind of magic.” And having no magic gives you a simpler life, hiyati. The only one I want for you.
Her frown settles deeper and I regret saying anything.
I pause, turning her to look at me. “It’s not easy, my job. You only see the good parts, the safe parts, the storytelling, the passing on of souls. But death is not a joke. Death is frightening and dangerous. Even if eating a seed could let you in, I would still forbid it.”
She says nothing, but glances away. “Fine,” she says. “I still don’t think it’s fair.”
I lay a hand on her shoulder. “You have it easy, Layl. Keep it that way. And I’m sorry,” I add. “I know you want to help.”
“I don’t just want to help. I want to be. To be something, to be a jinn, to be magical, to have powers.”
“Layl, what you want isn’t magic. It’s to feel powerful or special, no?”
She shrugs but doesn’t say anything.
“You are already special to me.”
“No. No, maman, that’s not it. I want …” She forces a breath out of her mouth as she stares up at the sky. “I want to do, to be. You have a job, an important one, and I want that.”
“You will have that, Layl, all that and more. Give yourself time. You are still so young.”
“I’m not much younger than you were when you had me.”
“And I was too young then.”
“But you did it. You were given the choice, and you took it.”
I laugh. “Oh, Layl, it wasn’t much of a choice. I’m glad I have you, and I’m glad you’re my daughter, but if I had waited even a few years—”
“That’s not the point,” she says, cutting me off. “You had a chance and you made it work. That’s all I need, a chance. I promise you, I can do it. I’ll help you. I’ll do anything you want. But why not let me try?”
Her eyes are wide and pleading, and they’re brimming with tears. I cradle her to my chest, trying to pass every ounce of love I have for her through our skin.
“Layl, if I let you try, you will be dead.”
“I will be alive in the greatest way possible. I would be Death.”
“You would be dead, no matter which way you look at it.”
“Kamuna can leave death. We’ve seen her, she’s been here.”
“Kamuna has been Death for more moons than anyone we know or knew has been alive. Kamuna is … She is beyond time; of it, yes, but beyond it. She has had to sacrifice much to become Death. She wasn’t always able to leave her realm.”
When she doesn’t answer, I say, “How about I tell you a story?”
Still, she doesn’t reply, but as I start the story, she sits up a bit straighter and I can tell she’s listening.
There was once a boy and a girl, born of the same womb, on the same day. The boy was named Luck, and the girl was named Fate. Each was beautiful—Luck with his hair the color of a setting sun; Fate with her eyes as dark as the deepest sea.
The two were inseparable. Always could they be found with hands held tight, moving through life as if they shared the same arms and the same legs.
And so, it went on, until the boy’s shoulders and the girl’s hips began to widen.
They stopped holding hands. Instead of the same path into the town market every morning, they now went different ways. Luck would take the left, and Fate, the right.
Their parents fretted that an animal or a bandit would seize on one of them alone and begged them to stay together.
But Luck and Fate were growing older and growing apart. They bickered over little things, like who got more creamed ice than the other or who had more sugar sprinkled over their fried dough.
Now, their parents grew angry at how stubborn and selfish their children were becoming.
One morning, Luck and Fate argued over who was more popular with their friends. Luck claimed their friends admired his strength and speed, and how well he could shoot with an arrow. Fate argued that, no, their friends preferred her beautiful voice and pretty face and her quick wit.
