The Fire Wish Read online

  I chuckled. “No, not a goat. He was … he was wearing a long white robe, and he had a turban on, till he took it off.”

  “He took off his robe?” Her eyes glinted, mischievous.

  “No. His turban. His hair was all curly, and fell over his forehead.”

  “Shards, Najwa. You liked the way he looked, didn’t you?”

  My face was very hot, and I smiled, looking away from her. “No. I was just observing. I’m trained for that, you know.”

  “Right,” she said. “So what did he do?”

  “He was playing an oud, but it was in some sort of laboratory, and—”

  “He’s a scientist. And he plays music. Anything else?”

  “He was just … he was just there.” I wanted to tell her. But I couldn’t. If she found out that I had gotten through the jinni wards, she’d stand up and boast about it as loudly as she could, right there by the fountain. Faisal would never trust me with any Corps secrets again.

  “Good thing you didn’t describe him to Atish,” she said, “or he’d find the boy and shoot a fireball at him.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” I countered. I thought about the wards, and how they had suddenly come down without any warning. We had been fighting the humans for years, but we’d never gotten ahead. Now we had an advantage, and I was the one who had discovered it. I just couldn’t tell anyone yet.

  Shirin groaned. “Here comes Faisal now.”

  Faisal was heading across the cobblestones.

  Sighing, I shrugged at Shirin. “Break is over, I guess.”

  “Human boys for you, broken bones for me. Sometimes I wonder if I chose the right path.” Shirin was training to be a physician, which meant she had to do some things I’d never have the stomach for.

  We headed toward Faisal, but I kept talking. “But you love it, don’t deny it.”

  “I know. I do. But the hospital is all girls, and Razeena likes it that way.” Razeena was the head physician. She wasn’t as old as Faisal, but she was dry and quiet—the opposite of Shirin.

  When we got to Faisal, he nodded at me. “We have a problem, Najwa.”

  “Uh-oh,” Shirin said. Faisal raised one eyebrow at her and she shut her mouth, then scuttled toward the school.

  “Did I do something?” I asked.

  Faisal shook his head. “Just come with me, please.”

  Then he turned and we went past the school, past the training field, and across the stone square. The moment my foot touched the first obsidian tile, I knew where he was taking me, and I quickly brushed at the wrinkles on my dress.

  He was taking me into the Command of Iblis, where the Corps met. I’d never been inside, because no one but the Corps was allowed. I knew only rumors about it. Supposedly, you had to wear a mask inside to keep your identity hidden, and it was where the Lamp was stored, which we’d used before the war. It was just a statue now. Also, there was supposed to be a chamber dripping in real, ever-blooming wisteria where the Corps rested between assignments. Soon I’d find out if any of this was true.

  “It seems,” Faisal said as we waited for a pair of guards to open the door, “that you’re the only one who can get into the palace.”

  6

  Zayele

  A river of mud slithered past the women’s tent, and I had to leap over it to get inside. My mother and one of

  my aunts chased the children who kept darting in and out of the tent. When my mother saw me, her frustrated face softened.

  Everything welled up inside me then, and I could feel the tears coming faster. I wiped the salt and rain off my cheeks, and she hugged me. “What happened?”

  “The vizier is looking for a bride for the caliph’s son. Me.” I ran to my bed and threw myself into the tangle of blankets. I was not going to cry anymore. I was not.

  I felt her hand on my back. “Zayele,” my mother said. “How can you be certain?”

  “He told me,” I said, pressing my face into the blankets. “He said to come back and get ready to be presented. That if I was lucky, I’d be chosen. As the bride.”

  She was silent, pressing her hand into my back. Then she pushed my hair aside and leaned down close to my ear. “You’ve always known something like this would happen.”

  I sat up and glared at her. “Marriage, yes, but not now! And not to a prince. I’ll have to go so far away.”

  “Come.” She pulled me up till I was sitting. “Let’s clean off the tears.”

  I allowed her to wipe my face while she called to my cousin Rahela. Rahela was a few years older than me, and she never spoke back to the adults. If she’d been told she was going to Baghdad to be handed over like a prize, she would have been grateful. She wouldn’t have stuffed her face into a pillow.

  She sat down beside me and took my hand. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Your uncle told her she is being considered for one of the caliph’s sons,” my mother answered.

  “As a bride?” Rahela squeaked. She was as surprised as I was.

  “Zayele,” Mother said, “they can come to get you at any moment. You need to get ready.”

  “Even in the rain?” My voice was bitter, but I didn’t care. “Wouldn’t they want their bride to stay dry?”

  “Zayele! I know you’re upset, but you have to appear calm in front of the vizier. You have to represent us with honor. If you’re going to be a princess, you have to act like one.”

  Rahela nodded, and I glared at her. “She’s right, you know,” she said. “Some of us wish we had this chance.” She ignored my moans of despair and took out one of our nicest dresses from the box by my bed. Then she shook it out and motioned for me to change. I slipped off my hijab and my dress and wiped some of the mud off my ankles. Then I put on the other dress. It was stiff, like I’d wrapped myself in tree bark.

  The dress was pomegranate red, with yellow vines and flowers embroidered across the chest and around the wrists. Rahela and I had made it a month ago, sitting by the winter fire and poking ourselves with needles. We’d spent hours embroidering the tiny blossoms and laughing about the men who would see us in it. But this was all wrong. Rahela was supposed to wear it first.

  “That’s better,” my mother said as she got up to run after my baby brother, Anji, and handed Rahela a brush. “Help her,” she said. Rahela started brushing my hair.

  “But—” I tried to pull away, but she held my shoulder tightly.

  “Just let me get you ready.”

  When she was done with my hair, she took one of our favorite hijabs and tied it over my head so it fell over my braid. Then she took out another box filled with kohl and brushes.

  “Close your eyes,” she said. She rested her hand on my cheek and then drew with the kohl around my eyelids. It was thick and heavy, and since I’d turned fifteen, I’d worn it three times. Today wasn’t any better.

  In a few minutes, the man in my father’s tent would be looking at me, trying to see if I was fit for a prince.

  “Why did he have to come all the way here?” I asked.

  Rahela shrugged her bony shoulders. “I guess to check on the tribe. And maybe to bring something back.”

  “But why should we care about what he wants? He hasn’t been here in years.”

  “It’s an honor—”

  “He saved us!” my mother said. She was like a hawk, watching and hearing everything. She had been at the front of the tent, but now she loomed over us. “After the jinni killed your uncle and aunt, the vizier fought the demon by himself. If he hadn’t been there—”

  “I know,” I said, stopping her. But she flashed her eyes and shook her hair.

  “You don’t know. You were a baby. We owe him our lives. He kept the jinni from killing us all.” Her hands were shaking now, and she wrung them.

  There wasn’t anything I could say. Yes, he had saved us. Yes, my aunt an
d uncle were murdered. But I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to be a wife. “I just wish it wasn’t me.”

  “He’s the reason you’re alive.”

  “He is planning on giving you to one of the princes.” Rahela wiped a stray mark at the edge of my eye. “That can only be good for you.”

  “Good? They live in a city. It’s hot and no one goes outside. There won’t be any mountains to climb. I probably won’t even be allowed to go anywhere by myself.”

  My mother shook her head. She was sitting down now. “I’ve heard the princes are both young and handsome.”

  “They are?” I paused. That wasn’t as terrible as I’d feared. “Well, I don’t care.”

  Rahela pulled me with her off the bed. “I know you’re nervous, but the vizier is here, waiting to see you. Once you get in there, be quiet and just answer any questions he might have.” I looked up and she gave a lopsided grin. “Don’t look at him like that. Calm eyes, Zayele. Calm. Now stand up and let us see you.”

  I sighed, but I did what she asked. Rahela, my mother, and some of the other women scanned me from forehead to hem. The dress hadn’t gotten any more flexible, so I still felt like a tree, but I could see they were pleased. My mother cleared her throat as if she was going to say something, but then changed her mind, and tied the matching hijab over my hair, knotting it at the nape of my neck. It cascaded down my back, over my hair, and halfway to the floor. I was covered except for my hands and face. Those I had to leave bare, for the vizier to see.

  Someone whacked at the tent flap with a stick and we both jumped. “Ready?” a man asked.

  “Yes, one moment,” Rahela replied. She knew I wasn’t going to say anything. I went to the opening. All I could see was the rain gushing from the sky and the man’s leather boots.

  “What was the use of changing if I’m going out in that?” I asked. Mother sighed in disappointment and picked up a camel-hair shawl. Then she handed one end to Rahela and they held it over me. Rahela nudged me with her foot.

  We stepped out into the wet and inhaled the cold air. The shawl kept most of the water from hitting me in the face, but it poured down my mother and Rahela, drenching them. The man said something gruffly about the mud and headed toward my father’s tent. We followed and passed a line of crocuses, all squashed into the mud by the vizier’s guards. The sky was gray and the shadows were gone, as if they didn’t want to meet the great vizier either.

  I looked past the tents to the mountains. The snow was starting to drip. Soon grass and wildflowers would be racing across the valley, and the camels would get as fat as pregnant goats. But if the vizier took me away, I’d never see any of that again.

  We reached the tent and the man parted the flap.

  “You women can go back,” he said. Mother nodded, and she and Rahela each kissed me on the cheek.

  “Allah be with you,” my mother whispered. Her skin was pink with cold, and she squeezed my shoulder too tight, her fingers a stony clamp. Then she released me, gently, into the tent and left with Rahela.

  Someone had lit a lamp inside. The flame danced on the walls and across the faces of the most senior men of the village. All of them were quiet, watchful.

  My father was sitting on a cushion in his most formal robe. I knew every inch of it—I had woven the cloth, with Rahela’s help, selecting the greens and browns that he preferred. Beside him, in a robe of black and gold, sat the Vizier of Baghdad. His long fingers tapped at his knee.

  “This is my daughter, Zayele,” Father said. He paused and glanced at the vizier, who nodded at me with narrowed eyes.

  “Zayele, you are as beautiful as these men have claimed.” The vizier’s words were polite, but something heavy tinged his voice. “In fact, you look like your mother.” I blinked. He continued, “Are you obedient? Faithful? These are some of the questions I must ask as I choose a gift for Prince Kamal.”

  The vizier started tapping at his knee again, but he stared straight at me. I didn’t dare move, but I found my voice.

  “Thank you for saving us. Before,” I said. It was a pitiful thing to say, but it was what came out of my mouth. “I believe I am faithful. And I’m obedient.” Of course I was obedient. Anyone who knew my father would know that if I wasn’t, I would be banished.

  “I am sorry I could not save everyone, and I am sorry that a war began that day.” He stopped tapping his fingers and turned to my uncle, twisting his head like an owl. “She is exactly what Baghdad needs. Someone fresh, but also a reminder to the people of what they are fighting for. She was here when the jinni first attacked, and she was saved.”

  My father pulled at his beard and smiled. “Hashim, I’m glad you’ve come for her. I think you’re right. She will remind the caliph of the resourcefulness of the al-Basra line. With her, you will have a hundred of our soldiers. Each one of them is willing to rid the world of the jinni plague.”

  “I’m certain the caliph will appreciate this year’s tax tribute more than usual, Sergewaz,” the vizier said, grinning. His teeth were surprisingly bright, and if he hadn’t been so old and creepy, he would have been handsome. “Zayele, you’re going to be this young prince’s first wife. It’s more than any other tribal woman can hope for.”

  It was like being hit in the stomach. The vizier and my father had made their trade. I was going to marry the prince, and my tribe’s warriors would have the honor of taking part in the war. My father waved his hand, shooing me out of the tent. “Go let your mother know you will be leaving with the vizier tomorrow. Your cousin Rahela will go with you, so you will not travel alone. We have other issues to discuss now.”

  I could feel my face burning in anger, and I almost opened my mouth to say what was on my mind, but then Father picked up his cup of tea. He was done with me. I turned on my heels and fled the tent. Outside, I picked my dress up to my shins and ran, splashing mud every which way. I went past my own tent, around the herd and to the cliffs.

  I climbed them, not caring how they ripped at my hands or how slippery they had gotten in the rain. The dress snagged on the rocks, and the embroidered flowers were soon frayed and crushed like the crocuses we’d passed earlier. And all I could think of was that I was glad the dress was ruined. I was glad I couldn’t wear it in front of the prince.

  I climbed higher, wanting to escape, to turn into someone else. I wanted to feel the rain and wind blow through my clothes. At last, I made it to where I expected to find Yashar. He had started a small fire beneath an outcropping and sat crouched behind it. Smoke billowed around the edge and disappeared in the rain while the wood popped and steamed.

  “Zayele?” he asked. He lifted his head and turned his ear to me. I ducked under the outcropping and sank down beside him.

  “It’s me,” I said, and patted his hand. For a long time, we sat while the steam escaped from the fire, twirling in the air. The wood turned black and chunks of it fell down into the searing coals, where they died. Then Yashar rested his head on my shoulder.

  “Are you going to leave with the vizier?” he asked. I grunted. “I won’t know what to do when you’re gone,” he croaked.

  “I don’t want to go.”

  His head lifted off my shoulder. “What do you mean? Isn’t it what girls want? To marry a prince?” He looked at me, furrowing his brows, and I shuddered. His irises were milky white with scars. They were like pearls, and unnatural. He could see light and darkness, nothing more than that, while I could see his blinded eyes every time I looked at him.

  “I don’t know. It’s just that I belong here, not in Baghdad. Not in a city. Not to some prince.” My heart twisted in my chest. Without me, how would Yashar make it? What if he fell down in the gorge and couldn’t find his way out? What if Father cut him off? Ever since he’d gone blind, our father had thought he was deadweight. But I knew he wasn’t. “Maybe I can find a way out of it and stay here.”

  “No,”
he said. He poked at the fire with a blackened stick. “You have to go. If you stayed, they’d make you marry someone from the al-Himza tribe. Maybe Destawan.”

  “Eww.”

  He chuckled, and I pretended he was really laughing and not breaking apart like I was. “You’d have to milk his stringy camels.”

  I shoved him and he smiled, a real one this time. “Baghdad is a long ways away,” I said. “But anything could happen on the journey. Maybe I’ll figure out how to come back home.”

  “Then you’d just be stuck here with us,” he said. A spark popped and hit the stone between the fire and our knees, leaving a scorch mark.

  “While I’m gone, don’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “Don’t worry. I may be blind, but I’m not missing a brain.”

  The water was pooling on the ledge and reaching toward my toes. Would it rain like this in Baghdad? After a while, the wind shifted and the outcropping couldn’t hold back the rain anymore. We leaned against the stone while the fire sizzled and steamed until nothing was left but mud and char.

  7

  Najwa

  Behind the doors stood an obsidian desk, and behind the desk sat a woman. I expected that we’d walk past her, but Faisal paused. She seemed to recognize him, but when she saw me, her smile thinned.

  “Who’s this, then?” she asked Faisal. She wore her hair twisted up in a gold-and-topaz clip, leaving a few strands hanging down. These she had dipped in bronze and filed at the points. She held one in her hand, twining her fingers around it while she looked me over.

  “This is Najwa. She is expected,” Faisal said.

  “That’s fine, but I need to check her in.”

  I glanced at Faisal, hoping he’d say something to get us past her quickly, but he nudged me toward her. “Najwa,” he said with an annoyed sigh, “she needs a finger.”

  “Why?”

  She said, “Just give me your hand, and you’ll see what he means.” She sounded like she enjoyed what she was going to do to me.