Three leagues east of the holy city of Medina, a camel walked into a dust cloud without blinking an eye. Those who knew this route knew that people who ventured into the haze often never returned, but the camel had no such qualms. It had travelled this way many times, and knew what was waiting on the other side.
The camel lurched forward as its front hoof slid down a steep dune. The dust had cleared to reveal a wide basin, completely deserted but for the small stone temple at its centre.
The doors opened into a brightly lit atrium mosaicked with glass shards, reflecting the distorted bodies of two figures whispering in the centre.
Al-Kuma smoothed his robes and motioned to the arch leading down into the inner sanctum, and the other man followed. He was dressed like an arab, in sirwals and a loose qamis, but he carried himself with a trepidation that Al-Kuma could feel from a league away.
The chamber at the bottom of the staircase was frozen and dark, and sent a shiver down the foreigner's spine. Al-Kuma procured a flint stick from his robe and struck it against the wall, sparking a flame to life. He dropped it into a reservoir of oil, and instantly the hallway burst into colour — sapphires, rubies and emeralds sparkled all over the walls and on the ground, gathered in piles as high as a man's knee to create a central walkway.
"Stay behind the line of stones," Al-Kuma warned when the foreigner moved forward.
He nodded solemnly, pausing tentatively between each step. The wall of gemstones gleamed in the firelight, but that was not what he was here to see.
There, beyond the stones in the darkness, a menacing leopard emerged. As the fire burned brighter, more beasts came into view — a lynx, a python, a hawk, a pony. At first they appeared ordinary, but as the light burned longer they began to change. The python's scales changed colour, the hawk's feathers sparkled, the leopards spots began to shift.
But they all had the same eyes, clear as glass, reflecting light in all directions.
"I cannot believe..." The foreigner gaped. He did not expect the legend to be true, and now that he was seeing it with his own eyes, he was lost for words. "These are the spirits?"
Al-Kuma picked up a loose ruby from the ground and tossed it at the spirits' mortal forms "Yes. We use the stones to suppress them."
They disappeared in a cloud of moisture, and the room was still as death once more.
"The Emperor will be pleased," said the stranger as they ascended. Al-Kuma's disinterested silence did not encourage him, and he was quick to depart.
The temple was silent once more.
X
Khaya slid the last pin into place to secure her veil. Her reflection stared back at her with tired eyes and dull skin, but there was no time to line her waterline and powder her cheeks. Zayan had left before the first prayer to deliver her urgent message to Yahya, and returned just after with the Barmaki's reply. They were to meet in the library solarium, where their conversation would go unheard and undisturbed.
Her conversation with the imam had brought relief, but her sleep was still restless, always on the edge of waking. She had made little notes by candlelight in the small hours of the morning — God is forgiving and merciful; Good deeds wipe away bad deeds; Forgive yourself; Forgive him.
The library was as quiet as always when Khaya entered, unaccompanied by her aides. The letter had instructed her to wait in the atrium, alone, and someone would bring her to them. Her palms were beginning to grow moist with sweat as time dragged on, and the scritching of quills on paper became a disorienting buzz in her ears. Finally, one of the clerks stood up from his desk and approached her. Avoiding her eye, he gestured to a set of shelves behind the main writing desks, and she followed close behind. He weaved through the shelves, until Khaya didn't know where left or right would lead her, and abruptly stopped in front of a shelf that looked no different than the rest. The clerk turned to her and bowed, then dashed around the corner before she could utter a word of protest. Her stretched out arm fell limp by her side, useless. She gave the shelf a cursory glance, and held in a gasp when it swung inwards. Standing in the doorway in robes the colour of midnight, was Yahya. His hair was braided loosely, making him look almost girlish.
Khaya almost forgot herself, and quickly lowered her gaze.
"Emir Yahya I—"
"Follow me quickly," he took her hand, and pulled her into the passage. They walked up a spiral staircase to a set of double doors covered in coloured glass.
Khaya's eyes burned from the sudden shock of brightness when Yahya opened the doors. Rays of light streamed through the huge concave windows, bathing the solarium in a soft, tranquil glow.
The Vizier sat on a diwan at the other end of the room, and at the sight of him Khaya's heart leapt.
"I apologise for making you wait," he said, voice deep and rumbling.
She followed Yahya across the room and sat on a low chair across from the two Barmakis, hazarding a glance at the Vizier's face. His gaze was hard and unnerving.
"My name is Khalid al-Barmaki, Vizier to the Caliph, although I am sure you already know. My son tells me you met with Ibn Fakrid, and that you know the secrets of our kin."
"Yes... my lor— Vizier— I..." Khaya's fingers knotted in her veil. "He told me about the Nizaris and the prisoners..."
Khalid al-Barmaki let out a long, pensive breath, memories flashing behind his eyes clear as water. "You think you have their magic, yes?"
"I don't think I have it," she said, squaring her shoulders, "I know, but that isn't why I wanted to speak to you, lord Vizier."
The Vizier's eyebrow rose by a hair's breadth. This girl was bold, something he was not used to from supplicants. His silence was enough to goad her to speak.
"The night we were attacked in the desert, I felt something. Like ice under my skin. And then we were attacked by those black snakes..."
Yahya gave his fathers a sideways look, and nodded for Khaya to keep going.
"I... I felt it again, a few nights ago."
This time, both Barmakis stiffened.
"I was with the Prince... in his bedroom," a blush began to creep up her neck, "I woke up in the night and I saw a man."
"What do you mean you saw a man?" Yahya could barely hide the rising terror in his voice. "Why didn't you speak of this earlier?!"
Khaya's eyes widened. She had never seen him like this, so flustered and... emotional. Khalid placed a gentle hand on his son's arm, and it was enough to silence him.
"I'm sorry," Khaya's throat tightened, "I thought I was dreaming. He appeared in a cloud of smoke, and disappeared so quickly, I didn't know if it was real."
Khalid's gaze was unmoving. "Did he tell you anything? His name? Tribe?"
Khaya nodded. "His name, it was Al-Kuma."
The sinews in the Vizier's jaw tightened. "This is troubling news... We need to convene the Emirs."
"He has made appearances before father, I don't think the Emirs—"
"That was before he could project his spirit this strongly, he has grown stronger."
The Vizier's words filled Khaya with unease, but she didn't know what to say.
"Khayzuran sahiba," the Vizier said, jolting her from her stupor. "Can you control your abilities?"
"If I concentrate, I can, but sometimes they flare up uncontrolled." She let her gaze rise to meet Yahya's. He had seen it for himself, that night in his tent when she couldn't bear the onslaught of sound.
Khalid pursed his lips in thought. "If you are so inclined, we can teach you how to control it."
Khaya let out a soft breath of relief. Finally, something was blooming from her efforts to understand her newfound magic. She bowed, genuinely grateful for his offer. "Thank you, Vizier."
"In exchange," he continued, "you will remain loyal to us, and keep us informed of anything you see or hear."
Of course, there is a catch. Khaya bit her lip beneath her veil. She should have expected some iniquitous condition to their favour.
"You want me to spy for you." She made her disdain plain on her face.
A whisper of a smile pulled at his lips. "A small price to pay for our protection and guidance."
He was right, she didn't have much of a choice if she wanted to get to grips with her magic. She chanced a look at Yahya, mouth turned down at the corners, neck stiff. He didn't like this any more than she did, but what could either of them do against his father's command.
"So it is."
X
Time seemed to be of the essence, and there was hardly a moment to breathe before Khaya was whisked away to a courtyard somewhere in the South wing. It was plainer than most that she had seen, with only a wide, shallow pool adorning it in the centre. Yahya instructed her to wait by the water while he disappeared back the way they came. She paced around the pool, staring at her reflection ever so often, as her thoughts drifted to the world she had left behind. What were Ghatrif and Salsal doing? Were they looking for her? Was Ghatrif pulling his weight in their mother's shop now that she wasn't there to chastise him?
The thoughts left as suddenly as they had come, when Yahya's footsteps slinked through the halls again. Khaya was surprised at her own intuition, that she could recognise him by the sound of his footsteps alone. He was accompanied by someone, someone with a strong heart, and vaguely familiar. It wasn't long before the two figures emerged into the courtyard.
"Khayzuran, this is Commander Tahir."
It clicked in her mind then, Tahir al-Barmaki, the man who fought the Prince.
The Commander had none of the tense, sharp angles of Yahya's face, nor the deep contemplativeness of his father, and Khaya wondered how they were related. He smiled and tilted his head, despite her low status.
Yahya leaned and whispered to him, but Khaya caught it nonetheless. "We should begin immediately. We don't have much time."
Time before what? she wondered, but already Tahir was pulling off his kaftan. She stood at attention, like a soldier waiting for orders, which perhaps, she now was.
"Please follow me, Khayzuran sahiba," he said. The low bass of his voice rung like a war drum, commanding without effort, and she followed him to the edge of the pool.
He strode without pause and stepped into the water — sirwals, shoes and all. Yahya crossed his arms and leaned against a pillar, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Khaya looked at him, then back at Tahir, who stood pleasantly expectant.
She slipped out of her sandals and stepped in, clenching her teeth at the shock of cold that seeped through her sirwals. It travelled up her legs, through her core, to her heart until she was stiff with shivers. Her discomfort was hidden by her veil well enough that neither man acknowledged it.
"Do you know how you obtained your power?" Tahir asked.
Khaya blinked. "The spirit inside me...?"
"Every living being possesses an energy called prana," he explained, "Prana is concentrated in different parts of the body." He pointed to his navel, his heart, and his forehead. "The spirit does not give you power directly, but carves a path between these points of prana."
He pulled a dagger from his belt, and Khaya took a half step back, her soaked garments completely forgotten.
"The power is already within you," his voice rose as he expertly flipped the dagger between his fingers, "The spirit merely creates a path for your prana to flow," he pressed the blade into his skin until blood swelled beneath it, dripping rich and red down the curve of his muscled arm, "brining your latent ability to the surface." He sheathed the dagger and wiped away the trail of dripping blood with the edge of his thumb, and the cut was no more.
Everything fell into place. When Tahir fought the Prince, Khaya swore her eyes saw Rehan's attacks draw blood, yet Tahir had wiped it away to reveal untouched skin, as if the Prince's blade was cutting not with steel, but sheer hope.
"You healed," she said plainly. "I knew my eyes did not deceive me."
Tahir allowed himself a smile. "No, they did not, but sometimes the mind tricks you into seeing what you believe is the only possible truth."
Khaya turned his words in her mind. The spirit was connecting her prana, but she was still unable to harness her power effortlessly, like Tahir and Ayaan and Yahya could.
As if reading her mind, Tahir said, "To control the power, you must control the flow of prana. Right now the spirit is holding the reins."
She sensed what was coming. "I have to fight it."
"No," he said, "you have to fight it and win."
X
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