Chapter 2 #2
“Ummi,” I pressed, sharper this time, inching forward until our knees touched. “What was the bargain?”
The lines around her eyes deepened, the silver strands woven through her dark hair catching the light as she bowed her head.
Then quietly, almost too quietly, she said, “I don’t know.”
The words were like a slap to the face. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
I shot up from my seat, knocking over the cup of tea. She sucked in a sharp breath and reached for a nearby cloth.
“Leave it!” I snapped, pacing across the room, my bare feet slapping against the cold floor. “How could you not know? You made the bargain!”
She grabbed my wrist, her touch light.
“Elira, please,” she whispered.
“No!” I yanked my hand away, nearly crashing into the low table. I stared at her in disbelief, my chest heaving. “How do you not know?!”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“When she told me, I was still in shock. I could barely hear a word. It was like my mind refused to absorb it.” Her voice wavered, breaking like thin glass. “I caught pieces of what she’d said. Glimpses, but not everything.”
A broken sob escaped her.
I wanted to reach for her. To comfort her, like she had comforted me countless times throughout my life.
But I couldn’t.
I was drowning in unanswered questions—in the weight of something I didn’t yet understand but could already feel looming over me like a curse.
“Okay,” I exhaled, rubbing my temples where a piercing headache was beginning to form, still pacing in a tight circle. “What did you hear? Maybe I can figure it out.”
Silence stretched between us like a fraying thread. My mother stared past me, lost in memories she’d tried to bury for years.
“Something about fire and flames.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “That’s it?” My voice pitched higher, echoing off the walls. The frustration in my chest was unbearable, tearing me apart inside like a beast desperate to break free. “That’s all you remember? Fire and flames?”
She hesitated, twisting the gold ring on her finger. “And… on your quartered life.”
My brows furrowed as I tried to make sense of her words. “What the fuck does that even mean!”
“I believe—” She swallowed, the sound audible in the tense silence. “I believe whatever the bargain is, it will be called in on your quartered life.”
The words sank in, twisting into place like pieces of a puzzle I didn’t want to solve.
“Wait. No.” I shook my head, taking a step back. “A quartered life… When I turn twenty-five.”
The room tilted beneath me.
“Tomorrow.”
I met my mother’s gaze and for the first time in my life, saw pure, unfiltered fear.
“SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!”
“Language, Elira.” The reprimand was automatic—hollow.
I snapped my head toward her, my nostrils flaring.
“Are you serious right now?” I bent down and grabbed the edge of the table, my knuckles white with the force of my grip.
“You bargained with a Jinn—can’t remember what the bargain is, and you’re worried about my language?!”
She flinched like I’d struck her.
“I’m sorry, Elira.” Her voice was thick with remorse. “I was selfish. I wanted a child of my own. Wanted to make your father happy. I—” she paused, the corners of her mouth pulling down. “I wanted you.”
The fight drained from me. I sank to my knees.
“You could’ve told me sooner,” I whispered. “We could’ve prepared. Could’ve found a way to break the bargain.”
“There is no breaking a bargain with the Firewalker.”
“The dreams,” I murmured—more to myself than her. “The nightmares… they’re connected to this, aren’t they?”
My mothers head jerked up. “What dreams? Elira, what have you seen?”
I shook the thought away.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why wait until now, when there’s no time left to fix this?”
“I tried. Believe me, Elira. I tried.” She wiped away fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “But every time I tried to say the words, it was like my body refused. My tongue would freeze, and my throat would close.” She reached for my hand, clutching it desperately. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat.
“Is that why you never wanted me to see a Seer?”
She nodded, looking away. “I was afraid they would confirm my worst fear. That you’d find out.”
Her eyes drifted toward the window, where the last golden hues of sunlight bled into the horizon. Long shadows stretched across the room, reaching for us like dark fingers.
The day is almost over. And for the first time in my life, I had no idea what tomorrow would bring.
I swept my hand through my hair and exhaled a heavy breath.
“I understand why you did it.”
Despite my anger, I meant it. What would I have done, after years of longing? Would I have been stronger than her?
“I understand.” I reached out, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. She leaned into the touch, her lips curving into the barest hint of a smile, but the shadow of twenty-six years of fear remained in her eyes.
I pressed my forehead to hers, closing my own, as if the contact alone could absorb some of the pain between us.
“I’ll figure it out,” I murmured, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Don’t worry.”
She nodded, though the hesitation lingered.
“But first,” I stood, pulling her to her feet, “we should eat.”
We sat together at the small wooden table, sharing a meal in the glow of candlelight. The stew was rich and warming, a taste of home and comfort even as fear lingered at the edges of our consciousness.
“Tell me about the night I was born,” I said, setting down my spoon.
My mother’s eyes grew distant.
“You came into this world during the worst storm we’d ever had. The midwife could not reach us, so your father delivered you himself.” A small smile touched her lips. “You didn’t cry, not even once. You simply opened your eyes and looked at us like you’d been watching and waiting all along.”
I reached out across the table, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
We spoke of childhood stories, foolish memories, fragments of laughter that lived somewhere in the corners of our past. Anything to push away the looming shadow of tomorrow.
I tossed and turned beneath the covers, sleep slipping through my fingers like sand. The gnawing sensation in my gut refused to settle. I pressed my hand to my stomach, swallowing back the nausea. Forcing steady breaths that did absolutely nothing to soothe the turmoil.
I looked to the ceiling, tracing the dark cedar beams that stretched across it. My thoughts spun, circling the same impossible maze, searching for a hidden meaning buried within the fragmented truths I’d been given.
No matter how I turned the pieces, the edges remained jagged. The picture forever incomplete.
What had she been thinking? What could’ve possibly driven her to bargain with a Jinn? Desperation surely. A yearning so deep, she’d been willing to risk everything for it.
The legend of the Jinn had once been whispered to me. A story older than me or my mother. Older than the world I have come to know.
Before mortal kingdoms rose from dust—before the first foundation stone was placed by human hands, the Jinn ruled all. They were not merely in the world, they were the world.
They were the wind that howled through the mountains—the fire that burned without end. The rivers that carved through the land.
Among them the Firewalkers stood above all. Untamed devourers of fate. Magic pulsed through them like a second heartbeat, shaping the elements as easily as breathing. They danced through infernos, wielding power that defied reason. The land was their dominion, and the skies their open halls.
And then, the mortals came.
Frail, fleeting creatures, stumbling into a world far older than they could comprehend.
At first the Jinn paid them no mind, amused by their reverence.
Their foolish belief that the land was something that could be owned.
Some even pitied them, gifting them fire to warm their homes, whispering secrets of the stars and teaching them to bend the earth to their will.
But mortals were not like the Jinn. They were fragile, eager things and above all, they were ambitious.
Awe turned into fear. Gratitude twisted into resentment as whispers slithered through the hearts of men.
What if the Jinn were not saviours, but monsters? What if their gifts were not acts of kindness, but shackles meant to bind us?
And so, the fear festered. The hunger for power spread like illness, infecting even those who had once worshipped the spirits that walked among them. And in the shadows, an ancient order listened.
The Veilbinders.
Mortals with the ability to wield magic. For many years, they hid in the small corners of the world, their gift a secret. Their presence an afterthought. But with mortals rising, they saw an opportunity.
A way to end the rule of the Jinn forever.
The Veilbinders studied their enemy, searching for weaknesses. The Jinn could not die. At least, not as mortals did. Their essence was too deeply entwined with existence itself.
But there were other ways to break them.
In the dark hours of a dying moon, the Veilbinders forged a spell unlike any before. Not one of destruction, but of banishment.
The Jinn felt it before they saw it.
The winds recoiled. The rivers slowed as if holding their breath. The flames, once their own, flickered with unease.
The sky split open. A rift torn through reality. A chasm of ancient power dragging the Jinn from their world, severing them from the lands they had ruled for an eternity.
The Veil was born, But the Jinn did not go quietly.
Their rage tore through the earth like a storm. Fire rained from the Heavens. Rivers turned to boiling gold and mountains crumbled into the sea. The world burned beneath their wrath.
But the Veilbinders stood their ground, hundreds of them giving their lives to fuel the incantation. Their bodies collapsed to dust—their souls woven into the prison itself.
And with a final deafening roar, the Veil sealed shut.
For the first time since the beginning, there was silence.