The Fire Wish (3 page)

THE VIZIER WAS here, and everyone was standing around like idiots. After Yashar caught up to me by the stone bridge, I told him who was in the village, described what the horses looked like, and told him how the black banner whipped in the spring wind. He wanted these details because he used them in his poems. He was only eleven, but he could weave words better than anyone else.

As we got closer, his hand tightened in mine. I was watching the horses stomping in the dirt. The men sat in their saddles like they’d been sewn into them. But not the vizier. He had to be the one dressed all in black, with a turban and jeweled daggers stuck into his belt. He didn’t carry a shield or sword, like the others. More than all this, he was smiling, his face wrinkling above his cheekbones. His eyes were the color of cold river water.

He was talking to my father, who reached up and helped him off his horse. My father gave him a hug and kissed his
cheeks. By then, Yashar and I had gotten close enough that we had to be wary of the horses’ hooves.

“My cousin,” the vizier said, “it is good to visit my home.”

He was one of us, but he’d left when he was young to study at the House of Wisdom, in Baghdad. He had made everyone in our tribe proud, rising through his school to become vizier, which helped us when it was time to pay tribute to the caliph. I’d never seen him before, and though I had known he was a real person, seeing him step right out of the stories and into my village was jolting.

“Come, let me give you tea,” my father said. The vizier nodded and followed him into his tent, leaving the horsemen to dismount and guide their horses to the field that spread atop the gorge.

“Why is the vizier here?” Yashar whispered.

“We’ll find out soon,” I said. Then I squeezed his hand and took him with me to the women’s tent.

They weren’t truly tents, but long ago, my tribe had moved from place to place, and so we called them that. They were partially made from stiff felt and stone, but on the inside, they were more tentlike than not. I swept the flap aside and brought Yashar in.

A single lamp lit the interior. It was midafternoon, so the babies were sleeping and some of the women were resting beside them. My mother was one of them.

I knelt beside her, and she propped herself up on her elbow.

“Yes?” she asked, sounding less annoyed than I’d expected.

“We have visitors.” As soon as I said it, she sat up.

“Who?”

“The vizier,” I said.

“Did your father greet him?”

I nodded.

“Any word of why he is here?”

“No.”

She looked past me at the door, and saw Yashar. “What is he doing in here?” she asked.

“He can’t stay out there right now. It’s not like he can see you anyway.”

She sighed and stood up, then went to Yashar. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into her. “Son,” she whispered, “you’ve got to learn to stay in your tent. You’re getting too old for this one now.”

“But Zayele said—”

“This is a tent for women. Now go out there and help with their horses. I’m assuming he brought men with him?” We both nodded. “Then go. One of the other boys can help you, Yashar.”

She led him out and spun back around, probably to get her hijab and jewelry on. Left alone, I followed Yashar and wandered toward the path that led to the horses. Almost every child in the village was assisting with the new horses, including Destawan.

I groaned. “Destawan is up there.”

“Let’s just stay here, then, by the well.” Yashar led me to the circle of stones that marked the village’s well. He knew his way around, even though he’d been blind for six months.

We sat down, facing the entrance to our father’s tent. “Why
don’t you go in there and listen to what they’re saying?” I asked. Yashar shook his head. “But you’re allowed in there. You could spy on them for me.”

“Zayele, I don’t spy.
We
don’t spy. Besides, I’d probably bump into the vizier and get thrashed by his horsewhip.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. I can’t stand it.”

It was my fault Yashar was blind. It made writing poems harder, and that was my fault too.

I sat down, leaning my back against the stones, and fiddled with my hair where it was tucked up in my scarf.

“I don’t have a good feeling about the vizier being here,” I said.

“Do you think it’s the jinn?” Yashar asked. “Are they coming back here?”

“No. The men would have more soldiers with them, not just guards. He’s here for something, though. It doesn’t make sense otherwise.”

Yashar got up to get some water just as our father stepped out of the tent. We both paused, waiting to find out what he would do.

Father motioned for me to go to him. When we got closer, he smiled at me, ignoring Yashar. He did that a lot now.

“Zayele.”

“Yes, Father?”

His smile was forced. “The vizier would like a word with you.”

“Why?”

Father patted my shoulder, as if that would comfort me.
“He is looking for a bride for the caliph’s son. If we’re fortunate, he will choose you. Now go and change your clothes. Let your mother know you’re being presented. We will be waiting for you.” Then he waved his arm at the women’s tent, directing me, before he turned to Yashar. “Stay away until the vizier is gone.” He turned and disappeared back into his tent.

A
bride
? Tears welled up in my eyes and I ran toward my tent, digging my nails into my hands and leaving Yashar alone. If they sent me away, he’d always be alone. I couldn’t look at him right now. I couldn’t think about that.

On my way there, the clouds split open and hard rain raced from the sky, flooding the path between the tents.

RELEASED FROM MY class with Faisal, I went out into the vastness of the Cavern. It was a crystal bubble inside the earth—a geode so large it fit all the tribes, the city, and the Lake of Fire. But it wasn’t as vast as the sky, and compared to the surface, it felt tighter, like a bowl turned upside down. Did everyone feel this way after their first trip to the surface?

Gypsum shards jutted out from the walls, catching the lamplight and scattering it every which way. The shards were as sharp as bat teeth, and I’d had nightmares of them falling and crashing through my house.

The Lake of Fire swept along the side of the Cavern, lapping at the crystal spears on the edge. Unlike in the human stories, it wasn’t a lake of molten rock. It was decorated in fire. Gases bubbled to the surface, where they caught fire, sending licks of flame dancing across the shallow waves. The flames were blue-hot, but harmless.

Wishlights lined the streets and the crescent wall that curved along the lake. No one remembered who had built the
wall, which was wide enough to walk on. Children raced on it, ignoring their mothers’ pleas to slow down. Brightly painted goats pulled carts beneath the wishlights, taking one tribe’s produce to trade with another’s. Everything glittered.

And at the far end of the lake wall, sprawled out like a napping dragon, lay Iblis’s palace. It was carved out of blue marble and pumice, striping it in glimmer and suede. Minarets dotted the width of the palace like the peaks on a dragon’s spine. They were where the guards stood, watching over us and keeping an eye on the handful of tunnels.

Between the school and the palace were the markets, hundreds of homes carved into the sloping Cavern walls, and the street of fountains. And in the center, connected to the Lake of Fire by a bridge-dotted canal, roared the waterfall. It spilled out from a crack in the wall, stirring the air and water. Ten feet wide and fifty feet tall, it poured into the lake before mixing with the gases of the earth.

I stepped over the cobblestones to the first of the fountains and sat on a bench. I had always believed the Cavern was the most beautiful place in the world. I’d been told that nothing sparkled like the Cavern. But it wasn’t true. The sun in the sky sparkled like nothing else, and the flowers had been so alive. So delicate and fragrant. Even the air itself had been fresh and clear.

I hadn’t been on the bench long before Atish and two of his friends, Cyril and Dabar, left the school and headed toward me. Atish smiled from afar. He was so sure of himself, especially now that he was going into the Shaitan. It was all he’d ever wanted. He claimed he just wanted to protect us all from
humans, but he probably wanted some glory as well. Being in the Shaitan meant you were more than a soldier. It meant you were loyal without question and had the sort of wishpower that endured in battle.

The past few months I hadn’t been able to think of Atish without mixed feelings. Any of the other girls would have given the jewels in their hair for his attention, but I could only think of him as Atish, the boy who’d played with me when my mother kicked me out during her card games with her friends. As we grew older and were selected for our trades, the whispers and rumors strengthened. It was common for a Shaitan soldier to wed someone in the Corps. They went together, the warriors and those who told them where to go and whom to fight. But whenever he held my hand, his was too hot, or too thick, or too familiar. I could only ever see the boy who’d played with me, even when that boy grew into a man, with bronzed skin and a strong, sure jaw.

Atish stopped in front of me and flexed the muscles in his chest so that I would have no choice but to see them. I looked up into his face and raised my eyebrows, noticing how he and his friends were still wearing their training clothes, which were nothing more than wide pants and leather vests.

“How was your special class?” I hadn’t meant for it to sound condescending, but it came out that way. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice, and his friends hovered behind him, watching me with curiosity.

“So are you going to tell me what happened with Faisal?” he asked.

“Nothing happened, really,” I lied. “He was in a hurry.” I
couldn’t tell him about the palace. Or the prince. The moment I realized this, I felt a pang in my stomach.

Smiling, he sat beside me, took one of my hands in his, and rubbed at the tender skin between my thumb and forefinger. It was the spot where Faisal would tattoo his mark on me once I was done with training. “What did you see when you were up there?” he asked.

“Just a garden, really. And a room with lots of rocks in it. What did you see?”

“A hill covered with poppies. There weren’t any humans nearby.” He leaned closer and then paused, looking at his friends. They already bore the golden lion mark of the Shaitan, which Atish had yet to receive. “It’s a good thing, since I can do fireballs now.”

“What?”
I asked. “When did that happen?”

“After the transport test. Rashid pulled me aside and asked if I’d like to try it, so I did.” He swallowed and looked away.

Rashid was the Captain of the Shaitan. Why would he have thought to test Atish this soon? “It’s like they’re planning for you to be in a Dyad.”

“They aren’t,” Atish said. “Besides, there aren’t any magi for them to pair me up with. And I’m relieved. I mean, to be in a Dyad would be amazing, but there’s only one person I’d want to be with, and she didn’t turn out to be a magus.”

My cheeks burned. When we were children, we would play at being a Dyad, the powerful partnership of a Shaitan and a magus. But when Faisal told me I wasn’t a magus like him, the dream died. I hadn’t thought it would keep Atish from wanting to be in a Dyad, though.

Shirin appeared then, carrying a shallow box with a mixture of colored bottles. They held powdered stones and resins, which she needed for her own classes.

“What’s going on?” she asked, putting the box on the seat and settling down between it and me.

“Atish can do fireballs,” I said. He hadn’t been able to cast them a few days ago, which was the last time we’d been alone together. Those times were few and far between now that he’d gotten further along with the Shaitan. We used to spend all our time together. I had always been the first to know.

“Oh,” she said. “I guess you’re too good for us lowly still-in-school jinn, then.”

Atish was grinning. “I’m getting the mark today. Now that I passed the test, I’m qualified. I’m
in.
”

Now I understood why Cyril and Dabar were with him. They hadn’t been interested in Atish before. But now that he’d passed their test, and Faisal’s, he was done. He’d completed everything, and he’d done it early. It was exactly what I’d always expected.

“You’re one of them now,” I said, forcing a smile. I was happy for him—he’d realized his dreams—but something had shifted. He was one step away from Shirin and me now.

“Almost.” He tipped his head toward the school, where he’d have to go back now. They’d mark him, and that’d be it. He’d be an adult. He’d be Shaitan. He’d move out of his home and into the barracks, living and breathing weaponry and strategy until he died in battle.

“I, uh, I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The three boys turned and left, leaving Shirin and me alone at the fountain. We watched the water spill down a stone leaf, dripping into the basin. Then I realized she was grinning at me.