Mazen had suggested a ship that dove into the sinking sand. His father had laughed—one of those rare, honest laughs that shook his whole body—and said, What you suggest is magic, my son. You would need magic.
Now, as Mazen wandered into the Sandsea, he felt that magic gather on his skin like invisible dew. It hung like mist in the damp air and made the darkness before them shimmer. He would have been in awe if he hadn’t been so anxious. Because he had no idea what he was doing.
But then, his life had been out of his hands the moment he’d gone on this journey. Now his future had been burned to cinders, and his memories lay in the depths of a cavernous hole. Every time he stood at the edge of that pit, every time he thought of his father, of Hakim—it took all that he had to resist falling in and succumbing to his misery.
So he did not ruminate. He followed blindly, all the while thinking, This is all I have left.
Eventually, the dark tunnels widened into cavernous chambers filled with hills of blue-white sand. Rivers of sand cascaded down the walls from the darkness above them. The chamber was only the first of many impossible wonders. As they continued, the landscape grew increasingly more spectacular. Soon there were trees growing from the sand. And then entire forests, entire buildings.
They passed through golden gates couched between deity statues Mazen did not recognize and stepped into what appeared to be an abandoned souk. To Mazen’s left: pots of spices and nuts; a cart stacked high with fabrics that changed color and pattern; and iridescently glowing ceramics. To his right: glass lanterns filled with multicolored smoke; shattered mirrors that reflected his face with multiple expressions; and delicately decorated boxes of lokum. He shifted his gaze upward and gaped at the stall canopies, which shifted color before his eyes. Some were trimmed with intricate, shimmering gold patterns that moved fluidly, like water.
“Qadir.” The merchant’s voice was faint. “What is all this?”
Qadir did not respond. He headed toward a copse of glittering fruit trees in the center of the souk. Mazen followed. His initial opinion of the apples was that they were oddly shaped: less round and more… sharp? He reached for one of the lower-hanging fruits and gasped aloud when his fingers brushed the surface.
The fruit was made of glass.
Qadir plucked an apple off the tree and bit into it without hesitation. Mazen could hear the sharp crunch of glass as the ifrit chewed, but Qadir seemed unconcerned. He was smiling.
“I grew up with these trees,” he said. Though he was looking at Loulie, his gaze was far away. “They only grew in the capital, and the fruit they bore was five times more expensive because it came from magic seeds.”
Mazen cautiously took a bite of the apple. He experienced the strange sensation of glass breaking between his teeth and melting into sugar on his tongue. He immediately took another bite. Delicious was a woefully inadequate description.
Qadir wandered away, moving deeper into the empty souk. Loulie immediately gave chase. Mazen followed after stuffing the rest of the apple into his mouth.
“How is any of this down here?” Loulie called. “Qadir!”
But Qadir was walking so quickly now that they had to run to keep up with him. He led them down twisted alleys and into thoroughfares taken up by extravagant buildings with stunning stained-glass windows and shining gilded doors. And then eventually, he stopped at a bridge made of solid gold. Mazen gasped for breath as he stopped beside him and looked up—up, up, up. For on the other side of the bridge was a palace with such tall minarets they faded into the infinite darkness above them. The building was oddly blurry, its details undefined.
A mirage?
“Qadir!” Loulie grabbed Qadir’s arm, but the ifrit just dragged her along as he stomped onto the bridge. She cast a desperate look over her shoulder, and Mazen rushed forward to grab his other arm. The ifrit shoved them off with enough force to send them tumbling to the bridge.
Living, breathing fire shone in his eyes as he whirled on them. “Do not touch me,” he snapped, and his voice was so loud and deep it made the bridge rumble.
The ifrit turned and walked away, leaving them to stare at his back. “Something’s wrong,” Loulie muttered. She rose and dusted off her robes. “We need to follow him.”
They crossed the shining bridge and burst through the entrance. By the time they saw Qadir again, he’d reached the end of a dark corridor. Mazen continued to give chase until the merchant suddenly stopped and he had to skid to a halt to avoid crashing into her.
He glanced over her shoulder. “What is it?”
The merchant had slid the compass out of her pocket and was staring at it. The arrow was quivering, pointing to an archway farther down the corridor.
Loulie frowned. “The lamp?”
The arrow shuddered in response. She bit her lip. “I can’t lose Qadir. But the lamp…”
“I’ll find it.” Mazen tried to smile but was too nervous to lift the corners of his lips.
Loulie’s expression lightened as she led him down the corridor to the archway designated by the compass. Mazen was overwhelmed by the sight inside.
It was a treasure chamber. The fullest, most impressive treasure chamber he’d ever laid eyes on. The floor was impossible to see beneath mountains of gold so tall the tops were lost to darkness. Glittering jewels and lavish artifacts lay scattered atop the piles as if they were mere trinkets. It was a staggering sight, like something out of one of his mother’s stories.
Loulie breathed out softly. “Damn.”
“What is this place?” Mazen mumbled. “Is all of this… real?”
“That’s what I intend to ask Qadir.” Loulie hesitated, then shoved the compass into his hands. “I’ll be back. But if I don’t return soon, use the compass to find us.” She turned and bolted through the corridor they had just come from.
Mazen faced the mounds of treasure. He followed the compass to a corner of the room drenched in sunlight that, as far as he could tell, came from the emptiness above him. He tucked the relic away and began sifting through the mound, which certainly felt real beneath his hands. Treasure slid through his fingers as he searched. But then eventually, he found what he was looking for: a simple copper oil lamp.
He plucked it from the pile with trembling hands. Was this small, unspectacular thing truly what they’d been looking for all this time? It didn’t feel like a relic. He tilted it one way and then the other. When nothing happened, he opened the lid and peered inside. It was empty.
He rubbed at the body, thinking that perhaps instructions had been inscribed onto the surface beneath all the dirt.
But there was nothing.
The lamp was just that—a lamp.
65
LOULIE
Trying to stop Qadir was like trying to move a boulder: it was impossible. Loulie tried to break him out of his trance by yelling his name, but Qadir never seemed to see her. She followed him down dark corridors and through chambers filled with ancient furniture. They passed chests made of solid gold, beautifully colored tile-top tables, mounted weapons with hilts of precious jade and silver, glass cabinets filled with tiny moving porcelain creatures—and Qadir never so much as blinked or questioned where they were.
She slid the two-faced coin out of her pocket.
Is Qadir possessed? She flipped the coin. The jinn side came up. No.
Is he being influenced by magic? The sultan’s face frowned up at her. Yes.