Chapter 24
The Heavens seem pleased despite the day’s violence.
A pale mid morning through a shock of white sun, a blink of pleasant warmth above the burnished sand, stretching her limbs beneath the sky’s belly; the bickering shouts of warriors a comforting tune.
My sticky curls cling to my neck, my thin kerchief plastered through with blood.
I sniff sharply: the potent taste of triumph bitter to my senses.
My tactics were unconventional, and for that, is there pride in my win?
I cannot dwell on it. The emperor would remind me that true success has not been earned until I have a rank to partake in military assignments and collect intelligence on our enemies.
Katayoun and I brace each other’s weight, limping forward. ‘Where is Cemil?’
‘There.’ She nods her head. Cemil is on his knees, staring at his hands.
‘He fell for our ruse.’ She meets my eyes, a warning brimming in them.
‘He is confused, and confused men with wounded pride go to great lengths to avenge themselves.’ Before I can mull over her words, a cheer emanates from our squadron.
‘Do you hear that?’ Katayoun actually smiles.
‘Those are children, drunk on victory,’ I say as the pazktab students shriek at Yasaman and Arezu carrying Yahya across the sand dunes.
I gaze at them in fascination. Za’skar displays its sharp contradictions.
On one hand, a lot of these warriors are violent and merciless.
But between its sheaves are the displays of camaraderie, the tempered kind, thrumming low and slowly.
‘A part of me is still in disbelief,’ Katayoun admits. ‘I doubted you.’
‘At the very least, Yabghu will be relieved of lecturing you. Will you try to earn more ranks?’
‘No.’ Her cheeks redden, and she gestures at the injured warriors surrounding us. ‘Never again. And I believe you owe me your stipend.’
I fight the urge to smile. Soon, Aina bounds across the fields and Katayoun leaves me to greet her cousin.
The sensation disappears as I look up at the craggy mountains, where officers and bureaucrats are amongst the dense crowd of onlookers; most frowning from bets lost. Amidst them, one grabs my attention.
Even at a great distance, I know his gaze meets my own, before he turns and descends the cliffs back to central Za’skar.
Perhaps the Sepāhbad permits the Marka because of what it yields. Perhaps horrid violence unites people when pain is shared and victory is the consequence. Perhaps the point of conflict is surviving it together.
‘You realise,’ No-Name begins from over my shoulder, and I turn. A breeze relieves the heat of my wounds, but her monastic robes stay vast and still. ‘Your vengeance will end the lives of those students.’
My body tenses. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You ache to reclaim your clan’s throne and to be their left-hand vizier.
You slave away in Za’skar to gain any information; to bring victory and unite the warlords.
You wish to destroy Sajamistan. There is inevitability to this fate; will it not cause the death of every warrior here?
The Eajīz children who will grow up and enlist?
’ No-Name clasps a hand against my cheek.
I gaze into her bleak eyes. ‘I cannot think about a future that has yet to exist.’
‘You are blind to the true enemy.’
‘Enemy,’ I repeat quietly. ‘The enemy is the man they worship. The man who is the general of generals. These children may be na?ve now, but in a few years, they will be trained beasts licking the Sepāhbad’s hand, murdering another’s clan.’
No-Name grins with sharp teeth. ‘Who from your clan? Your uma wasted her life.’
‘Shut it,’ I breathe, shoving my face in to hers. ‘Sajamistan did this; they left many like her to be abused in raids. They bred her fears. They killed her.’
Revenge. I’m determined to sustain the thought, but dread shadows it. Was revenge not my purpose – my vow? What honour remains for me if I cannot keep the promises I made even to myself? No one, not even children, will stop me.
‘Be gone,’ I order No-Name. She does not heed my command. Her features are fuller and familiar, as if I gaze into a reflection of myself. Hers aren’t simple whispers; her words are blades that open old wounds. And I cannot blot them; they only bleed more.
‘Master!’ Arezu choruses with the others, but I cannot look at them anymore.
Za’skar and its copper gates and its bone-stone walls absorbing the crimson dawn is a city only satiated by blood.
If its students did not bleed, the beast that was the city would not rest. A disturbing image.
But I cannot say such a thing to the students, for it would ruin their dreams.
And of course, children are children through their dreams. Children only become monsters when all the dreams fade away.
The crowd of officers and warriors surges across the desert plains, patrons of disgruntled clanhouses cursing their warriors for their losses. I pass Fayez, rage blazing in his dark eyes as he snaps to Yabghu, ‘You failed to mention she’s a strategist.’
My overseer turns and says thoughtfully, ‘I had no idea either.’
I step around them, heart thundering.
‘If those loathsome tactics even count as a strategy,’ a new voice snarls. An arm lashes out; a hand wraps around my throat. A strangled sound escapes me. It’s Negar, her tunic stained and wrinkled, bone-pendants strewn across her mussed hair.
‘You reek of piss,’ I tell her placidly. Her other arm lifts, fist of iron-bone slamming against my cheek.
‘Negar!’ Yabghu peels her away. I sputter a cough before shoving her. ‘Usur-Khan!’
I glare at my overseer. ‘She committed violence against an underling, unprovoked. It’s an offence.’
At that, Negar spits at me. I do not flinch even as the dark goo slides down my jaw.
‘I do not mind,’ I encourage flatly. ‘After all, I warned you of my blood oath. The captain stomping upon me in the bazaar was paid in kind today.’
By now, the warriors and officers tread around us in a loose formation. Negar straightens, wrenching her anger back, an understanding settling in this mental battle. She failed to provoke me, but I provoked her, and she does not wish for me to do it again.
Captain Fayez shoves his way toward me.
‘What did you think of my natural order?’ I look about. ‘You respect power and its natural outcome. This is mine.’
‘Bringing children to a battlefield,’ Fayez scoffs. ‘Are you not a warrior with honour?’
What an absurd notion. Quite the opposite. ‘Yes,’ I lie.
‘You disgracefully used waste as weaponry,’ Negar juts in.
‘It qualifies as biological sapping,’ I reply coolly.
‘A young student pissed over my warriors.’
‘The best tacticians have foresight. A shame that you were unable to predict the creative novelties of my warriors.’
Yabghu steps between us. ‘Usur-Khan, you are delirious and bleeding, go to the healers.’
‘The Easkaria teaches that victory is achieved not solely through knowing yourself, but through understanding the enemy.’ I turn to Fayez.
‘Today I learnt you are shit. As was your strategy – shit. As was your leadership, also shit. All that makes you reeks, my captain.’ I tack on the honorific, unsure if it is an offence to forgo it now.
‘Bested by damned children despite being a Fifth-Slash. You walk so haughtily, you are blind to the strength lurking below.’
Yabghu’s gaze flits helplessly between us. We do not dare move.
Fayez curls his fingers but does not touch me. ‘You sacrificed pawns in battles, flinging them like rocks at jinn. If this had been a real battle, you might have won, but you would be the last one standing.’
I stare back. On the battlefield, he thinks I would resort to petty baits, that I would have my warriors devoured by a beast. Even so, what of it? Soldiers are meant to be pawns. We are all pawns.
‘The best commanders do the things nobody else dares do, the things the world would hate them for, but the things that are necessary. Swallow your pain or let it fester, it makes little difference,’ I say.
‘And if this were a real martial duel, coded by honour?’
‘I would win again,’ I state carefully.
‘A Duxzam duel, the truest test of strength. Gamble away, imprudent warrior.’
Murmurs of disquiet ripple through the crowd.
‘Duxzam?’ I taste the word, recognising it. The martial custom for high-ranks. Yabghu said the Sepāhbad used it to become martial-vizier.
My overseer’s eyes grow large. ‘Fayez. She is yet to be a ranked soldier; she isn’t First-Slash!’
‘With the Marka’s outcome, she will be First-Slash, and permitted to duel,’ he says ominously.
‘This is foolish. She will be obliterated by you, in seconds,’ Negar scoffs.
‘Speak openly,’ I demand.
‘The Duxzam existed before the creation of humanity, before Prophet Adam, when the tribes of jinn-folk settled disputes for land and honour through holy battle. This is now a custom in the martial clans of Sajamistan. By declaring a Heavenly Oath, two warriors agree to gamble a stake on mutually agreed terms. The winner of the duel takes the stake. If they break the vow, their souls are condemned, losing Heavenly Energy. Battling in Duxzam is how high-ranks have grown stronger; how matters and disputes are settled in Za’skar and beyond; how even the rank of Sepāhbad is decided.
But a warrior cannot always battle at the Duxzam, for each Heavenly Oath comes with a severe cost. High-ranks partake in a duel each lunar year.
’ Fayez grins roguishly. ‘No man nor jinn-folk can interfere in the holy battle unless by Heaven’s will. ’
I nearly fall at this. ‘What do warriors gamble in a Duxzam?’ I ask breathlessly.
‘Wealth, land, honour, Heavenly bonds, military assignments, postings – anything.’
‘Captain, you promised me the duel.’ Cemil is suddenly there, forcing himself between us. Negar acts quickly, wrenching an arm around his neck before throwing him to the ground. Fayez does not blink; does not even acknowledge him.