But likely nothing I haven’t already heard dozens of times over.
The lack of urgency of their host and the other villagers had begun to upset Rondel, who pestered Fikri repeatedly for information about the djinn. Though Andrasta cared far less for Shadya’s well-being than her partner did, she too wondered why they would continue to deflect discussions about the very thing that brought them together.
Be ready for anything.
Many of her master’s drills occurred at such a subconscious level, she performed them without thinking. All however, would yield better results with a conscious effort.
“It’s good to see that not all of my lessons were lost on you, Amani,”
she could almost hear Master Enzi say.
She temporarily pushed down her desire for food and better studied all in attendance, making mental notes, should tensions shift to something less than amiable.
The man across from her had a bad left knee. The one on the other side of Rondel had back problems. Fikri carried extra weight in his gut which would affect his balance. The list continued.
Finishing her assessment, she leaned over to her fidgeting partner and spoke in Juntarkan so that none could hear her. “I know you’re on edge. I am too. But you’re going to shake your leg off if you don’t calm down.”
“We’re wasting time. If we had left when I wanted to, we would have found Shadya by now.”
Though thickly accented, Rondel’s Juntarkan had improved rapidly over the last several months. His ease with languages had always impressed her.
“We might also be dead. Fikri believes she’s in no immediate danger. Let’s hear what he has to say.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You want to be rid of her, don’t you?”
“Yes. But I’d rather not have her die a gruesome death to accomplish that.”
He grunted as one of Fikri’s daughters set a large plate of hummus and flatbread down in the middle of the group.
Finally.
Andrasta started to move toward the food, stomach rolling at the strong garlic smell, but caught the shake of disapproval from Rondel. She stopped as Fikri said a blessing to Hubul and several other Erban gods she cared even less about. When he finished, everyone dug in at once. Andrasta forced her way inside, taking two fistfuls of bread coated in the smooth paste.
Rondel barely had two bites before pressing Fikri again.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to be rude and insist you tell us about this majun.” Though it was obvious Rondel tried to keep his voice calm and pleasant, the strain could be heard clearly.
If Fikri noticed, it didn’t show. He took a small drink of tea and nodded. “I was hoping with more time since the attack, you’d be more likely to heed our advice. It is impossible to defeat the creature.”
“What? You expect us to just give up?”
“I know it sounds harsh, but—”
Rondel’s voice took on a tone Andrasta rarely heard him use, forcefully emphasizing the scratchiness of his damaged throat. “We
will
rescue her. The only reason why we’ve come here is because you said you had information that could help. If that’s not true, then we’ll be on our way.”
He made a motion to stand. Fikri waved him down.
“Please. Sit.” He paused and sipped his tea again. Andrasta used the chance to snatch up the fresh goat placed before her.
“The djinn are ancient creatures,” Fikri said. “Some think they were once minor gods who supported Nasnas and were punished by Hubul after the war at the City of Pillars. Others think that can’t be true, because there are tales of the creatures before that city fell.
“Most djinn are made of smoke and fire, though some of the most powerful have the ability to take on solid forms. The majun you saw has this power. Even in the appearance of doing good, evil is always the hidden intent.”
“That make sense,” said Rondel, calmer than before. “In the stories I heard of a djinn granting wishes, the wishes usually come with some sort of terrible repercussion.”
“Such is their way. It’s difficult to stop a djinn. They can be killed, but it’s almost impossible to do so since it usually requires learning their names. That leaves only trapping the creature. That path is not much easier. After trapping the creature, it’s common to bury them somewhere they’ll never be discovered.”
Impossible.
Andrasta was no student of history like Rondel, but based on her knowledge, something with great power always found a way to be discovered again
.
“The stories of the lamps?” asked Rondel.
“Yes, lamps are most used in your stories, found usually by some foreigner who falls for the trapped djinn’s lies.”
Andrasta snorted to herself.
Just as I thought. There is always a way.
Fikri continued. “The container doesn’t
have
to be a polished brass lamp. It can be anything, including a clay pot so long as the container is made to certain specifications.”
“What sort of specifications?” interjected Andrasta, trying to digest the new information. She noted the uncomfortable looks of other men in attendance for her speaking up. She glared back at them. She was not a meek girl and would not stand for being treated like one.
Fikri answered. “It needs to be painted or engraved with certain wards that will prevent the djinn from escaping. Engraved is better since paint can fade or chip. Ideally you’d want the wards on both the inside and outside of the container. A very tricky process.”
Andrasta whispered to Rondel. “Ironic that Shadya would be the most helpful in rescuing Shadya.”
He ignored the comment and asked Fikri. “Do you have containers like these?”
Fikri smiled. “All our containers are capable of holding a djinn, including the one I tried to sell you earlier today. That is why you see so many of us walking around with them outside. Having the container does not guarantee safety, but it does act as a deterrent.”
“How do you get a djinn inside?” asked Andrasta through a mouthful of goat.
“You must either trick them into the container, which only a young djinn would fall for, or place the open container over the top of the creature. Regardless of how strong the djinn is, if the wards are done correctly, they will draw the creature inside.”
“So, we have to sneak up on the thing,” said Rondel.
“No easy task,” said Fikri. “You saw the fire the majun could throw. That was only a small taste of the power it possesses. It won’t let you get close enough to trap him. If he considers you a threat, he’ll simply kill you from a distance.” He took another sip of tea.
“Considering the djinn is still active, I’m guessing that sneaking up on this particular one has not been a successful strategy,” said Rondel.
“No. Though there are rumors that centuries ago someone managed to trap him for a time until some fool freed him again.”
Once again, there is no such thing as never being discovered.
“So you’re telling me this djinn has been terrorizing Hegra for centuries?” asked Andrasta, amazed that they would tolerate such oppression and live in fear for so long.
Fikri and the other villagers bobbed their heads.
“That makes no sense,” said Rondel as if reading her thoughts. “Why don’t you all just go somewhere else?”
Fikri rubbed his eyes. “We’ve tried. If you look at old maps of Erba, Hegra is often shown in multiple locations. People think that’s because of an error of the mapmakers, but that isn’t so. It’s because Hegra has been built and rebuilt along the banks of the Undis River many times over while trying to escape the djinn. But it always follows us. We decided decades ago that if we must deal with the thing, then we would do so in a beautiful location.”
“And the rest of Erba knows about this djinn that terrorizes you?”
“It’s why Hegra has never grown into a larger settlement. People are afraid to live here.”
Andrasta furrowed her brow. “Why wouldn’t Shadya have mentioned this?”
“Maybe she forgot.”
“That’s a pretty big thing to forget.”
Rondel ignored the comment. “Why not just dissolve the town and move into other areas then?”
Fikri shrugged. “The answer is a foolish one. Pride. We don’t want this thing to rule our lives.”
“You already let it rule your lives,” snorted Rondel. “Just look at how you all carry pots.”
Fikri shrugged. “Even so.”
“I can’t believe—”
Andrasta touched Rondel’s arm. “Focus.”
Rondel grit his teeth, but nodded. “So this thing just attacks whenever it wants.”
“No. The djinn is usually satisfied with capturing animals if they are healthy enough. We didn’t have any animals out because it never comes for them so early in the month. I’m not sure why it came out at all.”
“Or why Shadya went off on her own,” said Andrasta.
Rondel gave her a look. “I’m sure she had a reason,” Rondel said, brushing away Andrasta’s point. “Regardless, we still don’t have a plan for it.”
“Fools,” hissed a man off in the corner. He stood out because of the puffy flesh on the right side of his neck and cheek. “Have you not listened to anything that’s been said? There’s no way to get the woman back.”
“There’s always a way. I just haven’t figured it out yet,” said Rondel.
“You’re both going to die.”
“Our lives are our own concern. Why do you care?”
The man stood. “I care because the djinn will not just kill you. We live an uneasy life with the creature, but it’s our life and your woman has disrupted it. One human victim will be enough to satisfy the djinn’s hunger for flesh, but three? Three might make it wonder again why it settles for animals when it can have more. Then we will need to be that much more careful as it comes hunting us. Rather than the occasional victim it might take every couple of years, the djinn might wipe out half our village before it’s satisfied this time.”
Rondel waved a hand to the grumbling of the other men. “That’s speculation. You don’t know if any of that would happen.”
The man rolled up his sleeve, exposing old scars. “I led a party of a dozen men to the djinn’s lair when it took my younger sister thirty years ago. I was the only one that survived. Over a hundred people in our town died in the months after that before things returned to normal. Nothing I say is speculation.”
At least they don’t all start off as cowards here.
“I see,” said Rondel, voice solemn.
“Good,” said Fikri. “Then you’ll forget this folly?”
“No,” said Rondel, flicking his gaze to Andrasta.
She knew what that look meant and swallowed her last bite.
Though she had been stuffing her mouth during the conversation, she had not forgotten her earlier assessment.
She casually set her food down, took a sip of tea and pretended to feign ignorance as her hands rested in a more ideal position to act.
“So you weigh the life of a woman who isn’t even your wife above countless others,” Fikri spat.
“I won’t let her die.”
“I had hoped you would see reason.”
“I had hoped you would show a backbone,” snapped Rondel.
Here we go.
Anger flashed across Fikri’s reddened face. By the time he shouted “Seize them,” Andrasta already had weapons in her hands.
CHAPTER 9
It all happened so fast. One second Fikri was shouting orders to seize them, the next he and Andrasta ran out of the man’s home and into a tight cluster of buildings as the men chased after them in the evening sun.
And in between those seconds we had utter chaos.
He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him lately. Andrasta had to practically drag him to Fikri’s in order to learn more about the djinn, even though he knew rationally it was the best course. All he had wanted to do was charge across the river to save Shadya, regardless of what waited for him on the other side.
Stupid.
During the deluge of information from Fikri, it had taken great control not to reach out and slap their host when he spoke about Shadya as though her life meant nothing. The way they had convinced themselves it was all right to just give up on someone they cared for sickened him.
Even worse, they expected me to do the same.
He had been able to get through most of those emotions, but after a while his patience had worn thin and his mouth worked of its own volition. He had been unable to help himself.
Not when my Shadya is in danger.
That gave him pause.
Gods. My Shadya?
He grunted as his shoulder clipped a sandstone wall, rounding the corner of a nearby home.
Andrasta darted to the right. He followed, noting the pieces of their dinner splashed across her clothes. Their escape had been messy.
Clumsily drawn weapons had knocked over food and drink. Half of the villagers had still sat as Andrasta threw them aside and barreled toward the back door of the home. Rondel had been a step behind, parrying a couple of sloppy thrusts from off balance scimitars. Blood flew in a few instances, though thankfully, from nothing serious.
Despite all his anger, he still didn’t wish anyone’s death. He knew the villagers were simply trying to protect themselves the only way they knew how.
Shouts of fear from the women and screams of frustration from the men chasing them rang out as they neared the edge of the village.
“Wait!” Rondel called as something caught his eye.
Andrasta halted. “What’s the matter with you?”
Rondel bent and snatched up several of the clay containers scattered throughout the village. He threw one to his partner which she caught effortlessly. He cradled two more, one beneath each arm, and took off again. They ran side by side. “Remember, these are all capable of holding a djinn.”
“The djinn is the last thing on my mind at the moment.”
“Not mine,” said Rondel. “We’ve got to get her back.”
“I know,” said Andrasta, sounding annoyed.
They ran past date palms and olive trees on the way to the river, back to where the fishermen had been working when they entered Hegra.
“You do?” Rondel huffed behind her.
“Everything we own is on the wagon in Hegra. We won’t get any of it back unless we can capture the djinn and prove the village is safe. And we can’t just go run off into the desert without supplies. Plus, we might need the wagon to get back into Zafar.”
They ripped through a patch of jasmine flowers and emerged from a cluster of date palms.
A boat floated gently in the middle of the Undis River to the right. Two more boats rested on shore. Nine men worked at the boats with three more farther away examining nets.
Heads looked up. Faces shone with muddled confusion. Shouts from pursuing villagers came from behind. A few of the quick thinkers went for weapons within reach. They carried long knives and in one instance a spear.
“No killing,” he warned. “Or what we do to the djinn will be irrelevant.”
Andrasta grunted. Having become fluent in such noises over the past year, he knew she understood that killing twelve men would do little to ingratiate themselves to the villagers.
The spear sailed through the air toward them. Andrasta sped up and it plunged into the dirt behind her. Rondel dodged away from the wavering piece of wood as she drifted to the right. Two men ran toward him with long knives brandished.
He carefully tossed the clay containers to the ground nearby, then drew his sword in one fluid motion.
A notion struck him.
I was worried about Andrasta killing people, but can
I
stop them without killing?
“Act!”
Andrasta’s voice shouted in his mind as if they sparred.
Rather than get into his traditional fighting stance to present a smaller target, Rondel ran at them. His only chance of achieving his goal would be to do things on his terms. He began swinging his sword through the air as though it were a sickle, and he an idiot who had no clue what he was doing.
His mannerisms caused the two youths to pause. He saw the realization in their eyes that knives were not exactly the best weapons to use in defense against a crazy man with a sword.
Rondel targeted the youth on the left first with a sweeping backhand swipe. The younger man moved fast, swaying away from the blade. Rondel took advantage of the off balance opponent, lowered his weapon, and shouldered into him. His adversary grabbed Rondel’s sleeves and they both fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and curses.
Rondel’s smashed his sword hilt into the side of the youth’s jaw, knocking him unconscious.
A burning pain lanced through his side. He winced, a yelp catching in his throat. His free hand instinctively moved to his side while rolling away and twisting to spot the other attacker. The knife that had ripped into his side swept toward his throat. His sword came up. Steel clanged, then snapped. The fishing knife broke at the hilt. Rondel kicked his foot hard into the youth’s crotch. His opponent gasped and doubled over.
“Rondel! Hurry.”
He turned toward the shout. Andrasta pushed one of the beached boats into the river. Unconscious or incapacitated bodies lay on the ground all around her. Thankfully, none seemed dead.
Gods, why does she have to make everything look easy?
He snatched up the clay containers he left in the sand and dashed toward the boat, gritting his teeth with each step as pain shot up his side.
Shouting villagers burst through the line of vegetation behind him. The urgency of the situation helped him ignore his injury while he helped push the boat into the water.
Villagers rushed into the water after them while others worked on getting another boat into the river.
“Get in,” Andrasta yelled and followed suit.
He jumped in, dropped his short sword, and scooped up a paddle. He clenched his jaw to manage the pain each stroke of the paddle sent blazing through his torso.
It will be a wonder if I don’t grind my teeth to nubs. If we make it out alive that is.
The two rowed furiously.
A spear splashed into the water near them. A throwing knife thudded into the side of the boat. Rondel turned. The other boat was going to overtake them. To make matters worse, the boat that had been left in the water headed in their direction.
“They’re going to reach us by the time we make it to the center of the river,” said Rondel.
“I’ll take care of it. Just keep paddling,” said Andrasta.
She paddled furiously behind him until the first boat neared. The man nearest the prow began to rise with a scimitar in hand. The moment he stood, Andrasta reached over the side, wrenched the knife embedded there free, and threw it at him. He flinched in a panic and swung his sword wildly in an attempt to block the attack. The knife sailed by the man’s head, but the movement of ducking and swinging the sword pitched him overboard. He surfaced a moment later weaponless and in the way of the boat.
Just one left.
They paddled again until reaching the center of the river. The other boat waited. Having watched the effort of their friends, the man at the bow crouched and looked far more sure of himself. Andrasta waited until the last moment before dropping the paddle into the boat with a thud. She grabbed the netting at their feet. In one fluid motion she stood, spread it like she’d been born to it, and threw.
The netting entangled the fishermen. As they struggled, the current took the boat downriver.
Andrasta nonchalantly sat and resumed paddling.
“Where did you learn to cast a net like that?” Rondel asked.
“There is a small village near where I trained. My master used to make us help them since he often leaned on them to support us.” Despite the immediacy of the situation they left, Andrasta’s face took on a calm quality as she recalled her past. “I found a sense of peace in working the nets.”
By the time they reached shore, Rondel’s injury was burning. Soaked in river water and sweat, he longed for a change of clothes. He could also use a nap.
The urgency of finding Shadya drove away his exhaustion.
Sleep will have to come later.
Still, I need to see to the wound.
He climbed out of the boat, took a few steps, and promptly sat. More than one hundred and fifty feet away on the opposite shore, it seemed like the entire village of Hegra cursed in their direction with fists raised.
“Looks like they’re done chasing,” said Andrasta.
“I guess their fear of being this close to the djinn outweighs their anger,” he huffed, finally looking down at his side where blood glistened through the cloth around his wound. Thankfully, it wasn’t as large as he feared.
Long and shallow.
He pressed his hand to it and the slight flow of blood ceased.
“For now. That may change as the sun continues to set.”
Rondel didn’t respond as he lifted his shirt and tried to better examine the wound. Footsteps crunched on the wet sand and rock.
Andrasta squatted beside him. “Bad?”
“Nothing that will kill me so long as I can get it cleaned and stitched.”
“Usually simple enough, but we don’t exactly have a way to build a fire without drawing that djinn’s attention.”
“And no sense in stitching anything without cleaning it first.” Rondel sighed. “Patch job it is then. That will at least stop the bleeding.”
Andrasta helped him tie a tight bandage over the wound.
Rondel climbed to his feet and stretched experimentally. He felt the pull of the wound, but the bandage lent enough support not to cause any more damage.
“It’ll do for now,” he said.
An image of Shadya passed through his mind, her soft smile and tender eyes.
“Let’s scout the area before it gets completely dark. We need to figure out what we’re going to do.”
* * *
Andrasta decided it best for them to split up. Given that she had skills better suited to move soundlessly at the speed they needed, she suggested Rondel scout the area around the river’s edge. She suggested this so he could also keep an eye on those from Hegra in case any decided it was worth the risk to cross the river.
Meanwhile, she worked herself inland. Her pace slowed once she passed several jagged sandstone clusters near the river. The land opened up into relatively flat terrain with barely any cover. She slinked, and snaked her way on her belly between small rocks, shallow ditches, and patches of tall, thin grass toward the three, wide-canopied acacia trees Fikri had mentioned.
Nothing grew within one hundred feet of the three acacia, each of which Andrasta guessed to be over twenty feet in height. She lay flat on her stomach inside a shallow divot of earth that left her far more exposed than she would have liked. Yet, she had no other option.
I have to know if this really is the thing’s lair.
She drew her sword, more out of habit than because she actually thought it would do her any good. Fighting fire with steel seemed like a waste of effort but she wasn’t about to go any farther without something sharp in her hand. She had brought her clay container just in case, though she had no clue how she’d get the djinn inside.
Hopefully, that’s something Rondel will figure out.
She readied herself to sprint to the nearest acacia.
A puff of smoke rose from the ground in the center of the trees. Voices in a strange language followed. She flattened herself once more and removed the lid of the container.
The harsh voices continued speaking for several minutes while intermittent smoke came up from the ground where she assumed the lair resided.
Great. Two of those things.
Eventually the voices subsided. Since she was certain of the lair’s location, she didn’t feel the need to go any closer without Rondel and some semblance of a plan.
However, she had one more thing to check, hoping for a back entrance
.
Slowly, she inched her way to the left on elbows and knees, eyes locked on the center of the acacias.
* * *
Growing more worried by the footstep, Rondel swiped his sword through invisible targets as he paced the river’s shore. The sun had gone down and the temperature had dropped noticeably, but Andrasta still had not returned. He winced with the last swipe and his free hand went to the wound at his side.
A throat cleared behind him.
He spun and took up a defensive stance. Recognition flared and he relaxed. “Gods, how about you make some noise before you’re this close to me next time. I’m not the one you’re supposed to be sneaking up on.”
“I wasn’t trying to conceal my movements. If you’re that distracted, how do we know someone from Hegra hasn’t crossed the river farther away?”
He waved a hand. “They’re too scared. They argued for a good ten minutes about just that, so loudly I could hear them. In the end, they decided the risk wasn’t worth it and they’d fortify their homes instead for when the djinn inevitably attacks them. They then threw some curses my way and set up sentries on the shore to alert the rest of the village.” He gestured toward three men standing in torchlight near their boats.
“Regardless, you need to—”
“Yes. Yes. Pay better attention. I get it. What did you find out?”
Andrasta sneered at the interruption. “I found the lair. It’s going to be tricky getting inside as there is little cover nearby. The djinn was also talking to someone. Arguing really.”