The Princess Who Tamed Demons (11 page)

"How much farther?" I clung to the back of
Linn's robe and looked left and right. A woman hustled past me, her
veiled face making her look like a spirit half-anchored to the
world. Two young children trundled after her hand-in-hand, and I
wondered what errand compelled her. Then I snapped my attention
back to what mattered, looking up at the pinnacle, the bronze
double moons gleaming from the top of the tower ahead. Craning my
neck back to get a better look at the tower, it was hard not to
feel dread. After almost becoming the slaughtered lamb, going right
into the heart of the potential wolf's lair didn't exactly jive
with my instincts.

But as Linn had quoted to me earlier,
'The
best investigators take calculated risks. The truth is a demanding
mistress.'
Linn was fond of quoting things from books, the more
obscure the better. Legends and parables especially. I'd
interrupted at least three of his stories just to keep us on task.
The librarian was a contradiction of expertise and impracticality,
and to be honest I still didn't know what to make of
him.

"Pickpockets prefer these tight spots. Be
watchful."

"I'm the one with weapons hidden in my robes.
You should be the one worrying." I hadn't meant to sound so
defensive, but oh well. The narrow lane opened into a square with
cobblestone streets. The uneven squares of stone made me stumble,
and I caught onto Linn's robe for balance.

"Careful." He made a face that reminded me of
rancid meat. "The taxes collected for repairing the streets always
find their way into certain pockets first." Corruption was a rarity
in the Black Kingdom. Here in Tajma, apparently not so
much.

"This is it then?" The temple's alabaster
steps were wide, with two camels flanking them. Atop each camel sat
a rider with an opened book brandished in one hand like a weapon,
and in the other hand a curved sword raised toward the withering
sun. Looking closely, I realized that one rider was actually a
woman, and that surprised me. I said as much to Linn.

"The woman on the right is Esthera. The man on
the left is Eskugai. Those are the Twin Creators, the deities whom
the dualinists worship."

"Dualinist? You mean the Verse-preachers and
all their followers?"

"Exactly so. 'Dualinist' is a formal term for
anyone who believes in the Two Creators, but it's somewhat archaic.
Mostly they just refer to themselves as 'the faithful.'"

"They seem to make up the majority of Tajma's
people," I said, my tone disappointed as I scanned the city's
skyline of Mosque towers scattered here, there, and
everywhere.

"Indeed so. Don't let the surface of things
fool you. The 'faithful' of Tajma are united only in theory.
Reality is rarely as simple. There are many minority factions which
help counterbalance the Mosques' influence, and the Mosques' own
infighting often serves the Great Amir's purposes. Some of the
Verse-preachers even secretly admire the Great Amir and cooperate
with him in secret. Time enough later for me to instruct you on
ethnic politics and religion. For now, follow my lead."

That explained a lot. I had wondered how it
was that the Great Amir could rule when he clearly didn't share the
beliefs of the majority of his people. And I was still puzzling out
how a belief system which had a female as one of its two most
revered figures could still be used to marginalize the feminine
half of its population. For now I suppressed my innate curiosity,
refocusing it on the obstacles looming in the here and
now.

We climbed the steps and heard the rhythmic
chanting of the men, their bodies prostrate on colorful carpets
woven from the finest materials, and by hands which were clearly
capable of marvels my clumsy fingers would never equal. Linn and I
silently skirted the worship area, walking through the open
hallways bordering the main room until we came to a little alcove
with a black, gold-fringed curtain enshrouding the doorway. Linn
swept it aside and confidently stepped through with me right at his
heels.

I smelled the sharp tang of candles burning
some type of herb I didn't recognize. The scent made me drowsy,
scrambling my senses. My hands curled into claws as pain throbbed
near the base of my skull. It took me some time to acclimate, and
by then I realized we had company.

"Welcome to the Mosque of the Twin
Moons."

I was surprised when it was not Ghayth who
spoke. Hadn't he claimed to be the leading Verse-preacher of this
Mosque? This man who appeared from the parted curtains of another
doorway was much thinner than Ghayth, almost skeletal, and his dark
brown eyes bored into mine with a lazy warmth—like a cat spotting
its ball of yarn but still too sleepy to swat at it.

"I am Salib." He said the word with a
flourish, Sal-eeb, as if that name should register with
self-evident importance.

I swept my cowl back, smoothing out my dark
hair behind me as I gave him a firm look, cool and
dispassionate.

"I am Najika, Queen of the Black
Kingdom."

"And you already know me, old friend," Linn
said as his wizened face grimaced the moment he swept his cowl
back. Whatever they were to each other, I could tell that they were
certainly
not
old friends.

"You." He said the word like he had just
stepped in a turd.

"You two can reminisce about old times later,"
I said, stepping around so that Linn and I now had him sandwiched
between us. "We have a few questions to ask you."

Salib turned, his eyes cooling. He nodded
though, his face polite.

"I have nothing to hide, either from a Queen
or from a meddlesome librarian," he said, glaring in Linn's
direction.

"We do not plan to trouble you any more than
we absolutely must, old friend. I hope you can understand," Linn
said.

Impatient, I couldn't resist. "Where's Ghayth?
Is he not the Verse-preacher of this Mosque?"

"Yes, he is, but he is not here. I am Salib
Aarda, which means 'Salib of Many Colors.' I am a traveling ossaqa.
I am not limited to one particular Mosque, nor do I debase myself
with their petty disagreements. I come and fill in where I am
needed, when an ossaqa is ill or away. I bolster the unity of the
People of the Verses. That is my role."

He seemed full of himself, which made me
dislike him immediately, and yet he didn't seem nearly as
intimidating or intelligent as Ghayth. He was the one I truly
wanted to speak to. I wanted to look into Ghayth's eyes, to ask him
what his role in my assassination attempt had been, and see if I
could detect a lie. I remembered his threat the night I had met
him, and it still echoed in my head.
You may die stirring up
things that a foolish outsider has no right to stir up.
Did my
very presence here in Tajma qualify? It seemed to, if the fearful
look in this ossaqa's eyes was any indication.

"Where
is
Ghayth?" I
repeated.

"Ghayth is at his villa. It is his
after-wedding Time of Union. He has a new wife, Aisha. He adores
the woman. It would not surprise me if right now he and she
were….Ugh." Salib shook his head, as if the very thought of
lovemaking disgusted him. But I knew better. I saw his face flush
and his body tense.

"That doesn't matter, you can still help us."
I took out a piece of wrapped-up cloth, unfolding it to reveal a
finely veined leaf.

"This plant, your people call it the 'homru.'
It is a poison which when ingested causes someone to change shape
into an animal, but it has other uses too. Some Mosques burn it as
a perfume for special occasions." I stared intently at Salib. "Does
the Mosque of the Twin Moons use an herb such as this in any of its
ceremonies?"

Salib's look was guarded, but he shrugged his
shoulders. "There are five greater Mosques within the city of
Tajma, and eight more high Mosques with over a thousand followers.
How should I know which Verse-preachers or acolytes-in-training use
what to gild their sacred occasions?" Salib sighed. "Yes, I can say
that the herb is used by some, but other than that I cannot help
you."

"Why not?" He was too tight-lipped for my
liking, but was that because he felt uncomfortable talking to a
woman, and a foreign woman at that?

"Why? Because I would not be one to badger
every Verse-preacher from one end of Tajma to the other." He looked
at Linn. "I owe you, or otherwise I would have walked out on this
impetuous woman already." He turned back to me. "I do not know your
purpose in asking me these unwise questions, unless it is merely to
dredge up trouble like the corpse from the bottom of a lake. Word
of your near-death…experience…is swirling about the city, with some
rumors claiming that you were even killed and raised from the dead
using the Great Amir's unholy magic." Salib made the sign of the
Verses on his chest and backed away. "Some even say that it would
have been better had you followed your husband on his continued
journey."

"When you say 'some' would that include
Ghayth?"

"I am sorry, but I do not think I can help you
further. If you are curious to learn about our beliefs, then I am
happy to speak with you. But I will not answer these strange
questions, asking about some random herb, not without knowing your
true purpose. What is it you seek?"

Linn shook his head with a dark chuckle. "We
cannot tell you that, Salib. Perhaps I should remind you exactly
what you owe me. Perhaps the supply of medicines I make for you
will suddenly dry up." He looked hard at the black-smothered
Verse-preacher, and the skeletal man seemed to wilt. I gaped at
Linn. I had never known a librarian to use knowledge as a weapon.
Then again, maybe Linn's was an idle threat, a bluff he hoped Salib
wouldn't call.

"Very well. I will make a list of names for
you and have it delivered to the palace. Even though some
Verse-preachers do not use it, some of the acolytes who they train
might
. I will not know until I have made discreet inquiries.
They will wonder why I want to know. What should I tell
them?"

Linn shrugged. "You're a creative man, Salib.
I'm sure you will think of something."

The Verse-preacher frowned, turning on his
heel, and his sandaled steps left us a cadence of rude echoes. He
called over his shoulder.

"Give me two or three days."

After he had gone, I walked with Linn back
into the open hallway. The fresh air was a relief after enduring
the cloying scent of the burning candle. I took a big gulp and
glanced at Linn, who was watching the open-air worship space filled
with over three hundred men. A small section in the corner was
reserved for women, but their carpets were thin and drab, faded
browns or blues, if they were lucky. As we walked past the
worshipping throngs I was tempted to whisper a question, then
thought better of it.

When we emerged back onto the alabaster steps
I walked over to the statue of Esthera. I looked up at the goddess
sitting proudly on the camel.

"Who was she? I mean, besides one of the Two
Creators." My curiosity in the dualinists' religion needed to be
sated just a little.

Linn pointed at the book. "As you can guess,
that is the Book of Verses, the holiest of holies for all who
belong to the Mosques. The texts say that long ago, this world was
a shadowed face covered in nothing but desert. Then one day two
lost souls descended from the stars and decided that this land
would be their home. Esthera became pregnant to Eskugai's delight,
and when the child was born the fluids of the mother watered the
earth, creating the oases and the rivers which made life in this
harsh land possible."

"What happened to Esthera?"

"She died in childbirth." Linn sighed. "In
that way their creation myth is depressingly realistic. Too often
mothers
do
die giving birth."

"But why?" I knew this probably didn't have
much bearing on finding who tried to kill me, but I couldn't
resist. "The healer at the palace saved my life, and that was after
a crossbow bolt had torn out my insides. Surely a healer of that
ability can save the life of a mother giving birth to her
child."

"That healer could, yes. Jawaher is talented,
and he should be. He is the Great Amir's own personal healer. Those
healers are as rare as black pearls, Najika. They do not exist if
you are an ordinary man or woman. The average healer can prevent a
cut from becoming infected or mend a shallow wound."

I ran a hand through my hair. "That is wrong,
then. Sir Amir should share something that precious with his
people. Surely he would save many lives."

Linn looked at me with a tinge of pity, as if
I was an outsider who was helpless to understand.

"Even if he were so generous, Najika, it
wouldn't matter. The people of the Verses hate Amir's healer. They
see his magic as demonic. The Verses say that 'men who bring others
back from the dead' shall 'be burned or have their eyes put out.'
Linn chuckled, but the sound contained no humor. "There's some
theological debate between the Mosques on what that means. How
nearly dead does a man have to be when healed to be counted as
'brought back from the dead'? The bottom line though, is this: A
good healer is a dead healer, unless he works in the palace, and a
weaker healer can make a decent living, as long as he does nothing
too
impressive. The world is a strange place, isn't
it?"