Blood Passage

  Nalia shone her light into the blackness below her. All she could make out was the end of a thick fishtail. She opened her mouth to say as much to Raif, when the entire cavern echoed with a hideous screeching, like a choir of bats.

  Raif immediately relaxed and a soft smile played on his face. “Gods, that’s lovely.”

  “Lovely?”

  He nodded. “Like a dream.” He pushed toward the rock in the center of the lake, quick and purposeful. Nalia pressed her hands against her ears and whirled around.

  “Fire and blood, what in all hells is that?” Zanari yelled over the din.

  First Raif, then Samar, Umbek, Malek, and Noqril swam toward the rock, their eyes glazed and faces plastered with dazed smiles. Nalia had never seen Malek so happy—he was positively radiant. There was a splash to Nalia’s right and she turned, defensive, her hands brimming with chiaan.

  Nothing.

  Then a body rose out of the water near the rock. It appeared human, its naked back turned, the spine curving beneath wet skin. She could just make out the shimmer of fleshy scales below its waist. The creature slowly turned around. Nalia’s breath caught, her eyes riveted to the horror. A feminine torso rose to a long, sinuous neck and bald head that glowed like the surface of the moon. Its flesh was so pale it was nearly translucent and it shimmered in the flickering light of Nalia’s violet chiaan. Above the naked torso and large, pear-shaped breasts was a face like a ravaged clown. The lips cut into the skin in a permanent, crazed smile from ear to ear, revealing the jagged teeth of a shark set in double rows along the top and bottom of the mouth. Red capillaries snaked past the lips, as though the creature had just feasted on raw, bloody flesh. But the eyes were what made Nalia go cold: a soft doe brown, beautiful except for a wicked, intelligent gleam.

  Phara, Anso, and Zanari’s expressions mirrored Nalia’s own: sudden understanding coupled with horror.

  “Si’lah!” Anso screamed. Sirens that feasted on the flesh of male prey.

  Nalia shot toward Raif, infusing the water around him with her chiaan. A si’lah was cutting through the lake toward him, fast and sleek. Nalia was only a few feet away when her body crumpled in pain. The wish had other plans for her.

  Malek. The wish would make her save him first, the magic somehow sensing he was in danger. Zanari hurtled through the water toward her brother while Nalia changed direction, to where Malek trod water, entranced by another of the hideous creatures. It beckoned to him with a webbed hand. The si’lah reached out a long, spindly arm but Nalia crashed into Malek, pushing him off course. The creature couldn’t kill Nalia’s former master—the amulet protected him from that—but she would render him unrecognizable.

  “Stop!” Malek thrashed against her and the si’lah hissed at Nalia, its mouth opening and closing like a fish.

  The creature lunged itself at her, and Nalia let go of Malek just as the si’lah’s tail smacked into her skull. Nalia slammed into the dark lake, the light around her dimming as she struggled to remain conscious. She sank into the water like a stone, and her chiaan shifted, allowing her Marid side to take over so that she could breathe. The darkness under the surface began to glow with an eerie red light, like plumes of blood. The si’lah glided toward her with astounding speed, its spiked tail slicing through the water. Nalia kicked toward the surface, but the weeds at the bottom of the lake shot toward her and began curling around her wrists and ankles, binding her to the muddy floor.

  This was how the si’lahs killed their victims, drowning them before they feasted. Nalia willed her body to dissolve into the water. Seconds later, she was a jinni-shaped current, no longer flesh. The si’lah keened, an underwater cry of rage. Nalia pushed at the creature, spinning it into confusion. Its webbed hands grasped at the parts of Nalia it could sense, but they could gain no purchase. Nalia swam faster, an outline in the water, nothing more. When she neared the sharp rocks that surrounded the cave, her body took on its usual form. The si’lah reached for her and Nalia threw herself onto the rocky shore, grabbing the webbed hands and pulling with all her strength. The fish flapped against the rock, desperate to return to the water. Nalia thrust her knee against the si’lah’s breastbone, and dug her fingernails into its cold flesh.

  She held on, her muscles straining against the creature’s powerful tail, which reared back and slammed into her, again and again, nearly knocking her unconscious once more. The cavern filled with the shouts of the other female jinn as they grappled with their own si’lahs, and Nalia spared a quick glance to her left, her eyes searching for Raif. He was alone, treading water, bemused. Zanari had her arms around his attacker’s neck and they thrashed about, wrestling in the dark lake. Nalia had to hurry. Zanari wasn’t a Marid, she wouldn’t be able to survive the si’lah’s attempts to drown her.

  Webbed hands reached for her throat, cutting off her air, and Nalia choked as the si’lah gasped her own death rattle, the gills in her neck finally closing. The light in the brown eyes dimmed and the webbed hands fell from Nalia’s neck. The si’lah’s dead eyes stared at the cavern’s roof. Nalia sank against the rock, breathing hard.

  A strangled cry in the center of the lake sent Nalia back into the water. She dove deep, to where a si’lah had dragged Zanari toward the sandy floor. Raif’s sister struggled, her mouth open, her movements slowing as the oxygen left her body.

  Nalia grabbed the si’lah’s neck and squeezed. Instantly, it let go of Zanari and Nalia threw it against a rock jutting from the lake bed. She closed her eyes and made sure fish met rock, over and over, until there was no more struggle.

  Nalia let go and pushed through the crimson water, grabbing Raif’s sister before she shot to the surface. The cave no longer echoed with the sound of si’lahs, and the men were coming out of their daze, shouting to one another. She lay Zanari onto the flat edge of the rock in the center of the water. Zanari’s lips were blue, her skin as pale as sugarberries.

  There was no time. Nalia leaned down and breathed into Raif’s sister, filling her with air and chiaan.

  “Please,” Nalia cried, when she felt the jinni’s cold skin and the stillness of her chest.

  It was no longer Zanari below her but Bashil. Her brother bleeding, his eyes terrified, the breath leaving him in agonized gasps.

  “Please don’t die, don’t die,” she sobbed. “Phara!” she screamed.

  The healer looked up from where she crouched over Umbek. Blood poured from a gash in his neck. Raif was on the beach with the other males, his head in his hands. At Nalia’s scream, he looked up and charged back into the water.

  No time. No time.

  Chiaan and air and pressing against Zanari’s chest. Again, again, again. She felt Zanari flicker to life. Her eyelids fluttered. Chiaan and air and chiaan and air and—

  Zanari coughed, spewing water.

  Nalia cried out, her words a tangle of every curse word she knew in Kada and Arabic. She helped Zanari sit up, holding her as she regained her breath. Zanari heaved, gasping for air. She looked at Nalia, her eyes wide, terrified.

  “You’re okay now,” Nalia said.

  Raif slid onto the rock and as soon as he got to Zanari’s side, Nalia transferred her to his arms.

  Raif cradled his sister, his eyes full of worry. When her breathing became normal, he helped her settle against the rock. “Bet you wish you’d gone through the portal when I told you to, huh?” he said.

  Zanari laughed weakly. “Don’t be so smug, you little skag.”

  He laughed and they spoke in quiet murmurs. Nalia looked away, her hand immediately straying to the zippered pocket where she kept Bashil’s worry stone. She pressed her thumb against it, imagining his little fingers holding it in the prison camp.

  Seeing Raif and Zanari ripped open the hole in her chest. Killing things was so much easier. She wanted to do more of that.

  Zanari reached out and gripped Nalia’s hand. She looked up, startled.

  “Thank you, sister,” Zanari said.

  Sister.


  Nalia nodded. “Of course.”

  The adrenaline of the fight and the love between the Djan’Urbis was threatening to overwhelm her. She moved to stand, but Zanari held on. “All that stuff I said . . . and you still saved me?”

  Raif’s eyebrows drew together and he watched them, silent. She knew Zanari would explain if she wanted to.

  Nalia smiled, soft. “At the palace, I was taught how to save lives as much as I was taught to take them. The only difference now is that I can choose to save who I want. Your life will always be worth saving to me, Zanari. Always.”

  Nalia squeezed Zanari’s hand, then left to join the others on the shore.

  33

  UMBEK WAS DEAD.

  Raif stared at the Marid’s massive body where it lay on the beach beside the roaring fire that would consume it. The lake glimmered with shards of tangerine flame. Umbek’s face was frozen in a grimace of pain, but the Dhoma had covered the horrible gash from the teeth of the si’lah that had killed him and surrounded his body with shells taken from the lake’s beach.

  The ceremony was short. The words of the dead were chanted as the flesh burned in smokeless fire. Nalia stared at the flames with haunted eyes and Raif thought guiltily of how he’d been absent when she’d sent Bashil to the godlands. Her shoulders slumped and her body seemed to cave in on itself. Her lips formed her brother’s name.

  Raif moved quietly toward her, and Nalia didn’t flinch or push him away when he stood behind her and gently took her hands. She leaned against him and Raif wondered if she could feel his heartbeat speed up as their chiaan connected. She flowed into him and he into her and he relished this hard-won intimacy, this breath of her soul inside him. They stood like that for the rest of the ceremony, his lips whispering words of comfort in her ear.

  When the fire went out, she held his hand to her cheek for a moment, then let go. He watched her as she walked to the shore to join Samar, now the only Marid in their group. The si’lahs were dead, but the bottles they’d been protecting littered the lake’s floor. In the light of the jinn’s chiaan, they glimmered like nuggets of gold. Nalia had been pressed into service, as the job was too big for Samar alone. She waded into the water, then disappeared under its surface.

  Zanari came to stand beside him. “I’m sorry, little brother.”

  “For what?”

  “For being such a skag about Nalia.” Zanari looked up at him, contrite. “She saved my life. Twice. Both our lives, really. Phara says I have to let it go. What she did. I don’t know if I can, but . . . I want to. I’ll try, anyway.”

  He sighed. “Zan. I haven’t forgotten what she did to Kir. And I don’t want to dishonor his memory. But I know Nalia’s heart. I truly believe she’d been forced to kill him.” He ran a hand through his hair. It was growing long, falling past his ears, and there was dark stubble on his face. “I love her, Zan. I’ve tried not to, you know I have. But I do.”

  Love is a weakness.

  “I know. I’m just scared,” she whispered. “When we get home, you have a revolution to lead, soldiers who are looking to you to keep them alive. But I feel like . . . the whole world could explode, and you with it, but as long as Nalia was okay, you wouldn’t care.” Zanari glanced at him, her jade eyes dark. “And I’m not up for burning my brother’s body anytime soon.”

  He wanted to deny it, had to deny it. Couldn’t. Instead, he pulled her toward the fish that Noqril was roasting in a fire pit. “Glad you’re still here, Zan. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Don’t forget that.”

  He glanced at her, confused. “How could I?”

  “I’m a good fighter, Raif. And with my voiqhif, I’m more valuable than any of your tavrai, and yet you shut me out of every fight.”

  “Zan, you’re a great soldier, I agree. I’m just . . . I’m trying to keep you safe. When I go on raids, I never know who’s coming home, who’s going to make it out alive.”

  She ruffled his hair. “I’m just saying . . . when we get home, I don’t want to be on the sidelines anymore. The tavrai chose you to lead, I get that. But the blood of Dthar Djan’Urbi runs in my veins just as much as yours.”

  “Wait . . . Are you saying you wish our roles were reversed?”

  Because he’d be more than happy to hand over the reins. The thought surprised him, but it was true. Raif felt done and he’d hardly even started.

  Zanari looked toward the lake. Nalia was dragging a net filled with bottles to the shore and Anso was running out to help her.

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “No. But you made Shirin your second.”

  “Aw, Zan. She’s my second because she’s one of the best fighters I’ve ever met. And the guys are scared shitless of her. Me too, if you want to know the truth.”

  Shirin. That was going to be a complication when he got home. He wondered what Nalia would think of her, this jinni who’d been by his side day and night, helping him plan his war for years. He had a feeling the two of them wouldn’t hit it off; his second was ruthless and crass, the opposite of Nalia in so many ways. He wasn’t worried about jealousy. Shirin would get over him, and quick. Probably already had—she’d think Raif had lost his edge and that would be enough to curdle her affection for him. He’d be lucky if he didn’t have a mutiny on his hands.

  “I agree that Shirin is a good choice for a second. But she doesn’t watch your back enough. She’s as crazy as you are out there when you’re fighting,” Zanari said. “Things can’t be the same when we go home. I feel like everything’s changed. Don’t you?”

  He watched Nalia dive back into the water, her limbs becoming translucent. “Yeah.” He raised his eyebrows. “Speaking of changes . . . you and Phara, huh?”

  Zanari blushed. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.” She laughed, shaking her head a little. “The world goes quiet when she’s around, you know? Like I can just . . . breathe. For once.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah. But it can’t last.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s Dhoma, I’m Arjinnan.”

  Raif nodded. “I think that’s what the humans call a long-distance relationship. Doesn’t sound very fun.”

  “Not so much.” Zanari hit his hip with hers. “The tavrai are going to have a fit when we come home and they see you with a Ghan Aisouri.”

  She was trying to keep the worry out of her voice, Raif knew, but he could hear it anyway. Fit was an understatement.

  He groaned. “Fire and blood.”

  “Literally.”

  He laughed, though it wasn’t at all funny. “You know what we need right now? A bottle of savri—or at least something that tastes like it.”

  “You manifesting?” He nodded and she smiled. “Then lead the way, little brother.”

  They walked through the cave for several days without seeing a single star. As the days dragged on, Raif could feel his anxiety grow. Each time they finally made camp for the night meant another day in Arjinna that the tavrai had been slaughtered by the Ifrit. And though there’d been no sign of Haraja since that first night, Raif knew it was only a matter of time before the monster struck. He often felt a presence in that darkness, menacing and hungry.

  “She’s somewhere in here,” Samar warned. “She’s just biding her time.”

  This made sleep nearly impossible. They slept in shifts, but because of Haraja’s unique ability to paralyze her victims, there was no telling how successful a guard would be. Noqril and Nalia were two of their strongest jinn, and Haraja had managed to paralyze both of them on that first night in the City of Brass.

  The underground labyrinth seemed to go on and on, with no end. As their party moved through the cave, the rocks behind them fell, making retracing their steps an impossibility. There was only one way out and if they didn’t find it, they would remain trapped beneath the Sahara until they died.

  The one bright spot on the journey was that every time they reached a body of water, they found more brass bottles,
the metal somehow protected from the effects of the salt water. They gleamed as if they’d just been fashioned, Solomon’s seal glittering over the opening. Each of the jinn carried dozens in small packs Nalia had manifested so that their party went from seven to hundreds, nearly thousands. Now that they knew for certain that the sigil was needed to free the jinn inside the bottles, Raif felt a little more confident about his chances against Malek—and Nalia, if it came to that. If Malek got the sigil first, they’d all be as trapped as the Dhoma’s ancestors. Failing to get the ring in his hand wasn’t an option.

  The air turned cold the deeper they went into the cave, and the jinn manifested thick coats made of sheep’s wool. The only reason Nalia manifested one for Malek was because his constant complaints about the cold had become unbearable. When they spoke, their breath hung in the air, like white evanescence. The Dhoma were miserable. Though the Sahara could get quite cold at night, it was nothing like the deep arctic chill that lived in the cave. And still, no star.

  Raif lost track of time. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been in the cave and, without the aid of the sun, it was impossible to know how much time had passed. There was no day and night; they stopped when they were too exhausted to go on, sleeping as little as possible. Just when Raif was on the verge of despair, convinced he would never go home and that entering this cave was the biggest mistake of his life, he saw the star.

  He’d been lobbing a ball of chiaan up and down, bored out of his mind, and as he glanced up to catch it, Raif noticed a strange grouping of stalactites. He fell back, curious. They stood suspended over the cave floor, the rock dripping toward him like candle wax. The stone was different, too—a deep red that stood out from the marble of the dark tunnel. Raif lay on the ground, reaching both his hands toward the stalactites. They glowed with the emerald light of his chiaan.

  “Little brother,” Zanari called, “I hate to say it, but it’s not nap time yet.”

  He laughed, triumphant. “I found it!” The group rushed to him, hope on their faces for the first time in days. “You have to lie down to see it,” he said.