Her hostess laughed inside her mind and said, “My dear girl, this is the magic of the Queen of Dunes. My magic. And now that I am free, you have unleashed it upon the world.”
Naji had never known a fear as deep as the one she felt then, for the Queen of Dunes was no mortal woman; she was one of the seven jinn kings. She tried to pry the circlet of bones from her neck, but to no avail. The Queen of Dunes laughed. “Our deal is not yet done, habibti. I have destroyed your nightmares, so now you are obligated to hand your body over to me. Do not mourn, dear girl! Together, we will be indestructible.”
Then the wicked Queen of Dunes snuffed out Naji’s thoughts as easily as one extinguishes a candle, and began to plot. She led her army through the desert and to a brilliant human city, where she met with the wali who governed it. She promised the city’s guardian power the likes of which he had never seen if he provided her with shelter. The greedy man accepted her deal and did not mourn when she killed his soldiers, for she reanimated their corpses and made them into a fearsome, undying army.
The wali was so in awe of the queen’s magic that he forgot to be afraid. This was his most dire mistake. Weeks after she took over his armies, the Queen of Dunes murdered him on a barren battlefield. “A heartless man needs no heart,” she proclaimed, and she tore the man’s beating heart from his chest before commanding his corpse to follow her.
The Queen of Dunes wandered the desert for many years, building her army of the dead. They built her a palace, one even more magnificent than the ruins Naji had found her in. It was there that she resided for years, content to be worshipped and feared.
Then came Munaqid, a peasant from a nearby settlement. He, unlike the rest of the townsfolk, refused to worship the queen. “The jinn are blasphemers banished by the gods for their wickedness,” he told the others. “And the seven kings are the worst of all, for they are the root of that evil.” He sought a way to end the queen’s reign of terror. His plan brought him to her palace, where he prostrated himself before her and offered false prayers. Day after day he returned and showered the queen with praise.
The Queen of Dunes was bemused by his dedication and decided to let him stay at the palace so he could serve her. She kept him alive, for she liked to see his expression war between adoration and fear. Over time, she began to trust him.
One day, as they were walking through her dust-filled courtyard, Munaqid asked about her appearance. “You possess the divine beauty of a goddess. What inspired your form?”
“I am but a shadow of what I once was. In order to exist in this world, I require a vessel. This body was an offering.” She smiled fondly as she stroked the bones at her throat.
Munaqid understood what he had to do. When nighttime came, he made his way to the queen’s bedroom, silencing any ghouls who stepped in his path. He found her slumbering in her bed and pried the circlet from her neck before she woke. What had been impossible for Naji was possible for Munaqid, for he was not bound by magic. He threw the circlet to the ground, grabbed Naji, and ran from the palace even as the queen’s ghouls gave chase.
He was bleeding and exhausted by the time he escaped, and still he heard the queen’s voice in his mind. Traitor! she cried. Terrible traitor! Munaqid was beginning to fear he might have to suffer her voice forever when a sandstorm hit and drowned out the sound. He sought shelter in a cave and held Naji to him as the storm raged. When it was over, he stepped outside and saw that where the palace had been, there was now nothing but a huge hill of golden sand.
“The gods have heard my prayers,” Munaqid whispered. “They have buried the Queen of Dunes once more. Now we are all free.”
Munaqid returned to the cave and found yet another miracle: Naji, revived. He took her hand, and together, they walked back to the settlement. Munaqid’s victory was celebrated all across the desert kingdom, and the people once again knew peace. Hundreds of years have passed since his resounding victory. But beware, fair desert folk, for peace is a fragile promise. If ever you come into the desert and hear a voice from your memory offering you your greatest desires, turn away from it. That path is filled with broken and deadly lies.
24
MAZEN
The moment he touched the circlet, a tantalizing warmth rushed through his veins. It was power, intoxicating and overwhelming, and Mazen nearly caved beneath its weight.
Let go, said a gentle voice in his mind.
His hand was shaking as he held up the crown. He could discern another feeling beneath the heat: an electric cold that numbed his bones even as his iron rings burned against his skin in resistance to the magic. His fingers curled tighter around the crown as he brought it to his… neck?
Not a crown, he thought. A collar.
He froze. A shadow-drenched memory flashed before his eyes: a phantom with ruby-red eyes stood before him, glowing unnaturally in the dark. He gasped as she approached, collapsing into smoke and entering his lungs and—
“No.” The gleaming collar was inches away from his neck.
The terrible humming in his mind said, Yes. It was a whisper and a wail and a scream. Let go, it said. Let go let go let—
“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. He raised the collar. Higher, higher—and then he threw it away. He refused to be possessed again.
Many things happened then. The humming ceased, the collar started screaming, and the sea of bones surged up in a wave, howling with rage. Mazen saw flashes of reanimated bone, severed skin, and flashing blades. The ghouls formed so quickly he didn’t realize they’d come to life until they stood before him in all their gruesome glory.
If you will not succumb to me, then you will serve me, the humming voice said.
The fear was immediate. It shot through Mazen’s veins like lightning, pulsing at his fingertips as he reached for his knives, which were slippery in his sweat-coated palms.
By the time he’d finally grabbed one, the ghouls were close enough to stab him. They smelled like dirt and rot and decay—a scent that made bile rise in Mazen’s throat. He swallowed it down as he tried to focus on anything beyond the ghouls’ mutilated faces. But he could not stop looking at the sharpened teeth. The sunken eye sockets. The crushed noses.
One of the ghouls growled deep in its broken throat and reached for him. Mazen’s body jerked in reaction. He swept the blade forward in a wild, desperate arc.
Amazingly, the ghoul backed away, hissing at him through cracked teeth.
That blade! The voice lanced through his mind, sharp as a knife. Abomination! Jinn killer! Each word stabbed Mazen in the heart. How many times had they been hurled at him when they were not even the truth?
You are not worthy of being my servant. Mazen had the distinct impression the voice was turning away from him. Kill him, it said. Destroy everything, even his bones.
This time, the ghouls did not hesitate. They rushed him, and Mazen’s only instinct was to desperately swing his blade through the air in the hope it would keep him alive. In Omar’s body he was faster, stronger, but fear still scrambled his mind.
The ghouls were relentless. Though they lacked the coordination for an organized attack, they came at him from every side. An arrow whistled past Mazen’s ear as one ghoul rammed into him. He stumbled, only to have another ghoul slam the flat of its blade into his stomach. One sword tore through his sleeve while another just barely missed his leg.
Mazen staggered back. Landed hard on his heel. Pain shot through his ankle, making him cry out. He clenched his teeth against the ache as he sidestepped one blow and swerved to stab another ghoul in its eyeless sockets.
He startled when it burned to white ash and fell to the ground.