Blood Passage (Dark Caravan Cycle #2) (36 page)

“I found it,” she whispered.

His eyes lit up. “Zan, that's great!”

But Zanari's expression was troubled. “Are you sure you want to do this, little brother?”

“We don't have a choice.”

“I was afraid you'd say that.” She looked at her hands. They trembled. “It's the most terrifying place I've ever been, Raif. There's nothing there. I mean
nothing.
It's like hanging out in Haran's soul.”

“Zan, we
have
to do this.”

“Stop saying
have to
,” she snapped.

Raif stared at her. “I only meant—”

“Say
want to.
Because we have a choice, little brother. We're here. We're alive. I don't know if that will be the case tomorrow.” Her voice shook and she drew her arms around her knees. “It's like being in one of those boxes the humans put their dead in. There's no
chiaan.
No light. The air is . . . dead. No wind. I put my hands on the ground and the earth gave me nothing. It was
dry, not like sand, like ashes.”

Raif went cold. Zanari was the one person he'd always been able to count on. But maybe being on Earth had changed that.

“Are you backing out?” he asked.

Part of him wanted her to. The evil, selfish part. He'd grab Nalia and run. Make love every night and never think of Arjinna again.

“No,” she said. “But I wish to the gods I could.”

“Tell me,” Taz said as he wiped grease from the evening meal off his hands, “how does an empress find her way to the Dhoma?”

There it was again:
empress.

Nalia sat back on her hands. “It's a long story.”

“I've got time.”

He was handsome, pretty in that Shaitan way. Princely: almond eyes, bronze skin, delicate features. And yet the leader of the rebellion against Solomon was like Raif in many ways. There was a stubbornness in his eyes that all his years in captivity hadn't been able to erase. He held himself with the tenseness of a soldier, as though he expected to be attacked at any moment, but knew he would defeat whoever attempted to harm him.

“A trade,” she said. “Your story first, and then I'll tell you mine.”

“You're used to getting your way, aren't you, Ghan Aisouri?”

“Nalia,” she said. “And, no, I rarely get my way.”

“No doubt you do with Raif Djan'Urbi.” Taz's Shaitan eyes
met hers, a challenge, but of what she didn't know.

“Raif's my
rohifsa
,” she said softly. “It isn't about getting my way or not getting my way with him.”

Taz cocked his head to the side. “A royal with a Djan peasant? Times
have
changed in Arjinna.”

Something flashed in his eyes, a secret hurt. Nalia recognized it and wondered at the source of the wound.

“Not in Arjinna,” Nalia said. “We've made our own rules here on Earth. That's what Raif's fighting for.”

“And you?”

The weight of the crown. The empress's dead eyes looking up at her.

“I was a slave on the dark caravan for years and have only just been freed. Other than the Djan'Urbis, I've lost everyone I love. What am I fighting for?” She hugged her knees to her chest. “
Life.
The right to go home.
Same as you, no?”

Taz nodded and cast thoughtful eyes on the fire. “I left Arjinna just before I was enslaved by Solomon. My father was an overlord and I couldn't bear the way he treated his serfs. He sent me to the border wars—he thought making me kill Ifrit would turn me into a real jinni. Instead I fell in love with a fellow soldier. He was a Djan, same as your Raif.” He shook his head, as though he could make a memory fall out. “Anyway, my father and I fought. Horrible things were said. Me to him, him to me.” He studied his hands. “I've thought of that last conversation with him so many times. I wish . . .” He sighed. “Anyway, my
rohifsa
and I came here—ran away. We thought it was romantic. An adventure. But then Solomon and his ring turned us into serfs
and I lost . . . more than my freedom.” That flash of pain again, just for an instant. He glanced at where the sigil lay around Nalia's neck. “You should destroy it.”

“I know.”

He raised his eyebrows. “But . . .”

She said nothing. She shouldn't have said anything at all. Talking to this Dhoma was a mistake.

“Ah,” he said. “Your
rohifsa.
”

“He hopes it will drive Calar and the Ifrit from Arjinna.” Even to her ears, Nalia could hear how defensive of Raif she was.

“But you think otherwise.”

This is not going well,
she thought.

“I think there are many ways to fight our enemy,” she said. “The ring is one of them. You and your jinn are another.”

He smiled. “I was wondering when you'd get around to this.”

Nalia leaned forward. “You said you hated how your father treated the serfs. I felt the same way when I was a Ghan Aisouri. They made me do . . . terrible things. Even if I lived as long as you have, I could never forgive myself for the pain I caused. I'm trying to make things right. Better. With us, you have a chance to change all those things that made you leave Arjinna. You can go home: we have a way even though the portal's closed. And you can help free the Dhoma who've been captured. What would you do instead, Tazlim?
Ya ghaer bhin fa'arim.
”

It was a scrap of ancient poetry, beloved by the Shaitan.

“
My land, a whisper on the wind
,” he quoted. His eyes misted and he looked away. “I can see why Raif sent you over here.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.

“It's hard to resist a beautiful, learned jinni with passion for the oppressed. But tell me, Nalia Aisouri'Taifyeh, what will you do when the Amethyst Crown is no longer upon Calar's head?”

“Return to Earth.” No matter what role she played in Arjinna's future, this was nonnegotiable.

His eyes widened. “You're full of surprises, aren't you?”

“I plan to free the slaves on the dark caravan, not sit on a throne.” She smiled. “When that's done I want to be a farmer's wife.”

A fantasy, that last part. Still, it was true. It was what she wanted.

Taz threw his head back and laughed. “You don't like having power, then?” He brought a clay mug of wine up to his lips. He offered it to Nalia first, but she shook her head.

“I rule myself,” she said. “And no one else.”

He looked at her for a long moment, a searching gaze that took the measure of her. “Tell me your story,” he said softly.

Nalia started with the afternoon in the dungeon with Calar, before Nalia knew the prisoner she was freeing was actually the Ifrit leader. She described the coup, the slave auction where the human wishmakers stared at her body and bid on her. She told him of Malek and the bottle and trying to take him to her bed. Losing Leilan to Haran's fiendish appetite, and her night in the shadow lands of death. Bashil, dying in her arms, and that long, grief-filled sleep in the Dhoma camp. The terror of losing her
chiaan
,
the burn of the lightning as it split her wide open. The
si'lahs
and the other horrors of the cave. Malek falling into the chasm. It took less than an hour to narrate three years of terror and grief.

Taz pressed his hand to his heart.
“Hif la'azi vi,
My Empress
.
”

My heart breaks for you.

“Don't call me that,” she whispered.

“I said I opposed the way my father and the Aisouri treated the serfs—
not
that I opposed royal rule,” Taz said. “I don't want a Master King ruling over me, as Solomon was. But you know the history of our land as well as I do. Before the Aisouri took power, we were just warring tribes. Uncivilized. Do you really think the jinn today will fare much better? And what of the Ifrit who follow Calar? If they're anything like they were three thousand summers ago, I doubt very much you want them crawling over your land.”

“
Our
land. And that's not for me to decide. Arjinnans want to be free, they want—”

“A leader. Look at your Raif. He leads them, does he not? Will
he
wear the Amethyst Crown?”

“Raif isn't a dictator. He doesn't want—” Nalia shook her head. “You don't understand him. He's good, through and through. It's not power he wants: it's freedom. Ruling is just another kind of shackle. Besides, if he really wanted to rule, he wouldn't have risked his life so many times for me.”

“Then you have answered my question.”

“What do you mean?” she snapped.

“You told me how Raif stayed to help you fight Haran. How he jumped into the chasm before you could sacrifice your life for your master's third wish. He would have died if your master hadn't saved him. These are the actions of a subject who values his empress's life above his own.”

The truth of what Taz was saying hit her hard. But Nalia
didn't want it to be the truth. “You're wrong. He did those things because he loves me.”

“Yes, he does. But you, I think, are empress of his heart in more ways than one. He just might not yet know that yet.”

Taz stood and bowed. “My army is yours, My Empress. We will fight for you.”

He turned and walked away, toward the tent that had been manifested for him. Nalia wrapped her arms around her chest.

What have I done?

ZANARI GAZED ACROSS THE SEA OF BODIES THAT COVERED the Sahara from her vantage point atop a mountainous dune. Most of the jinn in the bottles had agreed to join them in the Eye. They were calling themselves the Brass Army, and their ranks glimmered in the early-morning light, where their chests bore witness to their imprisonment in the form of brass pins, melted down from the bottles that had trapped them. Zanari had seen a few of the pins already: the sign of the Djan—a
widr
tree; the cresting wave of the Marid; the flame of the Ifrit; a swirl of wind for the Shaitan. All four castes, wearing the same uniform. This, in and of itself, was a victory.

Those who had refused to join their ranks were unwell. Their haunted expressions told the story of what their time in the bottle had cost them. Phara, along with Samar's wife, Yezhud, and most
of the
fawzel
, would be staying behind to care for the jinn whose spirits had been shattered by their enslavement, and prepare the camp for the return of her people.

“So this is it? I just . . . leave and you stay?”
Zanari had said the night before.

Phara had smiled, sad, but certain. “Yes, I think so.” She rested her forehead against Zanari's. “But I will miss you. And pray to the gods for your safety every night.”

It hadn't been a surprise. Zanari knew that Phara was Dhoma through and through. She had no love for Arjinna, no desire to be there. And though Zanari could see herself making a life on Earth, she missed her land. More than that, she couldn't abandon her brother.

Zanari didn't know what it meant, that she'd been able to make the choice to leave Phara. When Raif and Nalia thought they had to be apart, it was the end of the world for them. What they shared wasn't just love: it was a partnership that would shake the very foundations of the realm. Someday, jinn would sing songs about them around campfires.

Zanari and Phara didn't have that, but maybe love didn't always look that way.

She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun, savoring these last few moments of light and fresh air. Phara wasn't the only thing she'd be leaving behind when she and the army crossed into the Eye.

Raif came to stand beside her, a low whistle escaping from between his lips. “I want to see the look on Calar's face when this walks through the Gate of the Silent Seers.”

She opened her eyes. “You can say that again, brother.”

The Brass Army stood as one. Female and male, they all wore the black uniform of the revolution and their brass pins, but there was one other addition to the uniform—something that worried Zanari to no end. Where she and Raif wore the white armband of the
tavrai
, the Brass soldiers wore a braided one with white and purple fabric twisted together: the white of the revolution and the violet of Nalia's royal line.

“And those armbands?” she asked softly. “What do you think of those?”

Raif sighed. “Nalia wants the people of Arjinna to decide for themselves who will lead them, but Tazlim was very clear that his jinn are fighting for her to take the throne. These armbands were a compromise, trust me.”

“And . . . how do you feel about this?”

He hesitated. “I don't know.”

“You don't know,” she repeated. Fear bloomed inside Zanari as the words sank in. So she hadn't been imagining the change in her brother since that moment in the cave when he'd nearly died for Nalia. He'd been silently wrestling with something, she knew, but Zanari had no idea it was something this big.

“I know everything you're going to say, Zan. I can't talk about it. Not right now.”

She held her brother's eyes for a long moment, then finally nodded. This was a conversation that belonged to an entire night, with a bottle of
savri.
The problem was, that night wasn't happening until
after
the
tavrai
saw those armbands.

“The
tavrai . . .
” she began.

“I know, Zan. Trust me, I know.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Phara?”

Zanari sighed. “It's over.”

He gave her a thoughtful look. “I wouldn't be so sure.” Then, unexpectedly, Raif wrapped his arms around her. “I love you, Zan. Whatever happens in the Eye, I just . . . I want you to know that.”

She hugged him tight, then pushed him away, the side of her mouth turning up. “Don't go soft on me, little brother.”

It took a surprisingly short time to assemble the jinn. They wiped all traces of their presence in the desert. If Calar had spies, they didn't want to tip their hand that they'd raised an army.

“So you're the sister,” Taz said, coming up to Zanari.

She nodded, unsmiling. “Yep. I'm the sister.” She was getting so tired of that role.

“Also known as the Incredibly Talented Seer?” Taz raised an eyebrow and when he did, his face lost some of its perfect beauty. It made her warm to him, just a little.

A small smile sneaked onto Zanari's face. “Now you're just trying to get on my good side.”

Taz nodded in mock solemnity. “You're the one who'll see the ghouls coming—I plan to stick quite close to you for the next . . . however long we'll be roaming impenetrable darkness.”

“I have a personal bubble,” she said. Nalia had taught her that human expression after one too many of Noqril's advances.

“I like bubbles.”

Zanari rolled her eyes and he laughed. For a jinni who'd been imprisoned in a bottle for thousands of years, Taz was remarkably well adjusted.

“So, how exactly does this work?” he continued.

Zanari pointed to where Nalia and the other Djan stood at intervals around the large circle of jinn, their hands pressed to the earth.

“The Djan are creating a circle around all of us,” Zanari said. “In order to access my
voiqhif
to the extent we'll need it today, the more power the better. The circle also has to remain strong enough so that we can evanesce as a group.”

Taz whistled. “We're all going to evanesce at the same time based on your vision of the Eye—can that even be done?”

Zanari nodded. “It's been done before. Just . . . on a smaller scale.”

A much smaller scale,
she thought. Antharoe and her blind seer hadn't made their way across the Eye dragging over two thousand jinn.

Zanari noticed a puff of violet smoke shoot up on the other side of the circle and in seconds, Nalia had evanesced beside them.

“We're ready,” Nalia said.

Zanari settled onto the sand and placed her fingertips on the outer rim of the circle. It glowed bright green.

Touma, the first jinni who had been freed of his bottle, rushed up to Nalia, bowing low before her.

“My Empress—”

Nalia held up her hand. “Touma,
please.
Nalia, just Nalia, okay?”

Zanari bit her lip, watching them. How had this empress thing gotten so out of hand, so quickly?

Touma rose from his bow. “Please let me be of assistance to
you on the journey. Anything you need.” His eyes glistened with tears. “Taz told us of the terrors you've endured. When I think of you losing nearly everyone you love . . .”

Great, fat tears began falling down the Ifrit's face.

“Oh, gods, not again,” Zanari said. “Nalia, control your pet.”

Nalia glared at Zanari, exasperated, then manifested a handkerchief. “Why don't you stay nearby, Touma? Your presence is a . . . comfort to me.”

“Oh, yes, My Emp—” He coughed. “Er, Nalia. I'd be most honored.”

Raif watched the exchange, frowning.

“Okay, little brother, do your thing,” Zanari said.

He manifested two ladders and climbed to the top of one.

Taz began to climb the one beside him. “Wish me luck?” he said, looking back at Zanari.

“Luck,” Zanari said. As Taz began ascending the ladder, she turned to Nalia. “I hate to admit it, but I kinda like him.”

“I like him, too,” Nalia said. “I think. But I don't know if I trust him.”

“I hear you on that, sister,” Zanari agreed.

Raif began speaking to the assembled jinn, his voice magically amplified. Despite the size of the crowd, it was silent.

“Brothers and sisters. Today we are going home. To Arjinna. To the land that is ours and ours alone.”

The Dhoma cheered.

“The journey will be dangerous,” Raif continued. “And anyone who does not wish to undertake it may feel free to leave this circle.”

None of the jinn moved.

“Good,” Raif said, after a moment. “I admire your courage and pray the gods will bless you for it.
Jahal'alund.
”

His speech lacked the intimacy he had with the
tavrai.
This wasn't Raif's army—not yet, anyway. Zanari wasn't surprised. His
tavrai
fell in love with her brother on the battlefield, not off it. He was no politician. Give him a fight, though, and there was no one better to lead.

Raif turned to Taz and nodded.

“Fellow slaves of the Master King—you are slaves
no more
!” the Shaitan commander called.

The jinn responded with a roar. The sound gave Zanari goose bumps. It reminded her of her father, cheering on the
tavrai
just hours before he died in the second uprising.

“And you have one person to thank for your freedom,” Taz said. “One person who knows what it's like to be imprisoned in a bottle with no hope of escape. Her royal blood paid the price for our freedom. We give her ours in exchange.” Taz gestured to where Nalia stood beside Zanari, shrinking into the ground.

“Fire and blood,
what's he doing?” Nalia growled.

“I take back the part where I said I liked him,” Zanari said.

“We pledge our blood to you, Nalia Aisouri'Taifyeh, rightful Empress of Arjinna, Keeper of the Amethyst Crown, and heir to the throne.”

The jinn were silent, each one immediately going to their knees.

Taz descended the ladder and bowed before Nalia, one knee on the desert floor.

“Stop it,” Nalia hissed. “I don't want this!”

“
They
need this,” Taz said. “If you ask jinn to die, they need to know
why.
And for
who.
” He stood and reached out a hand. “Speak to your people.”

Nalia looked up to where Raif stood. His jaw was tight and he gave her a slight nod. She ignored Taz's hand and pulled herself up the ladder.

Zanari couldn't hear what Nalia whispered to Raif when she joined him, but she saw his hand reach back to caress her spine and knew his anger wasn't at the jinni beside him, but at Taz.

“Please,” Nalia said to the jinn. “Rise.”

Zanari couldn't help it—something about seeing Nalia up there, hearing her speak—it made
her
want to bend the knee.

What have we done?

“I do not want you to fight for me,” Nalia called. “Fight for yourselves and your families. Fight for freedom and the right to live the life you want. Spill your blood for an Arjinna where there are no shackles and bottles and masters. The revolution is inside all of us.” She turned to Raif.
“Kajastriya vidim.”

“Light to the revolution,” Zanari whispered to herself. Her eyelids slid down and she began searching for the Eye.

The Eye of Iblis, the Devil's Eye, a place without the gods.
In some cultures, they might even call it
hell.
The jinn didn't believe in hell as the humans did. For them, Hell was a place where the gods refused to go. It was an absence of all that was good and beautiful. An absence of life and the things that made it worth living. This was the world without the gods.

Zanari pushed deep into her mind, no longer aware of her
surroundings. She could feel the energy of the circle pulsing through her fingertips as she traveled the lines of her
voiqhif
,
rushing past the twists and turns of the universe. A child's laugh, a sunny beach, buildings that touched the sky. Faces, faces, so many and the world so big and so much and—

Nothing.

There, in the corner of her mind, a place hollowed out of time and space. Silent. Dark. Without form or color, without anything.

Zanari pressed closer, until she could see the darkness before her, a gaping mouth. She stepped inside. This was it. She concentrated on the exact sensation of erasure, of absence.

Then she willed her body to evanesce.

Zanari could feel them now, Raif and Nalia and Anso, Samar, Noqril, Taz, Touma, and the thousands of strands of
chiaan
that made up the Brass Army. They pressed close to her and as her body began to break apart into specks of jade evanescence that hurtled across the earth, Zanari melted into the energy around her, pieces of her mixing with pieces of all the jinn until she began to lose all sense of herself. They were one, the fierce desire for home pulsing through these broken hearts, a communal wish to reclaim what had been stolen from them. Zanari cried out, holding on to the image of nothingness, the sense of deletion.

Finally, stillness.

Zanari opened her eyes to oblivion. “We're here.”

The darkness swallowed them whole.