No new Sultim will be chosen from this pack of unworthy princes. The true Sultim was already chosen, and I come here with a warning.
Later, those among the crowd would tell of how she cradled her head in her hands like it was the child who had been taken from her too soon, the child who had not been born of her husband but, some said, of a Djinni. Of course they should choose the mother of one of their children as their messenger from beyond this world.
The Rebel Prince is the true heir. He must rule in Miraji or else no Sultan will ever rule again. Our country will fall to war and conquest and the very armies who wait by our gates. It will be divided and bled dry by our enemies.
This Sultan can bring only darkness and death. Only the true heir to Miraji can bring peace and prosperity.
A great cry rose from the crowd then, though all heard the words she spoke next.
The Rebel Prince will rise again.
He will bring a new dawn. A new desert.
Chapter 3
Izman looked different from above.
I was standing on the ledge of the great prayer house and I could see the crowd assembled for the Sultim trials far below us. That was why we’d picked this spot, to keep an eye on this morning’s proceedings. Because it sure as hell wasn’t for the comfort of it.
I shifted as much as I dared on the narrow ledge, trying to get a better view of what was going on. I teetered forwards a little as gravity reached up for me, and to my right Jin instinctively grabbed my arm, steadying me before I could plunge hundreds of feet to my death.
‘I don’t have it in me to lose you, too, Bandit,’ he said as he anchored me to our perch.
Maz and Izz flanked us. They’d flown us up here, taking the form of two giant Rocs, just before daybreak, when people started to gather. The sun hitting the golden dome of the prayer house made it blaze so bright it almost blinded me, even with my back to it. Which meant it would blind anyone in the crowd who might happen to glance up our way, making us seem like kaleidoscopic illusions in the light instead of flesh and blood.
When I was down in the streets, the city was a latticed puzzle box. Sharp corners, hidden alcoves, unexpected dead ends. Long streets pierced occasionally by windows that leaked whole other worlds on to the dusty paving stones. Narrow passages made all the narrower for being lined by market stalls and a steady stream of people. The whole thing lidded by colourful canopies blotting out the sky. I still hadn’t managed to solve the city, even after nearly a month of being trapped inside it by the great dome of fire.
I knew it was one of Leyla’s unnatural inventions the moment I saw it. But the people had drawn the same conclusion as Sara that first night. That it was ancient magic, the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the end of the First War.
Many were calling it Ahmed’s Wall. Some had even begun praying to it. Ahmed’s Acolytes, so called. Men and women who singed their clothing and smeared their faces in ash and spent their days trying to get as close to the great barrier of fire as they could in order to pray for it to hold against the invaders at our gates. No matter how many times the Sultan’s soldiers turned them away, they kept coming back, dawn after dawn. A few had even died, getting too close to the barrier. Disintegrating like the stone Jin had thrown at it the day it appeared. They preached that Ahmed had saved us all.
I hated to admit it, but it was possible the barrier had saved us. Though I knew it was nothing to do with Ahmed.
From up here on our perch I could see the lines of blue tents encircling our city with military precision. Waiting. Just like they had been for weeks. After the twins saw them on the horizon, it wasn’t long before they got to the city. But that was where their invasion stalled. The couldn’t get through the barrier on their side any more than we could. Their bullets disintegrated against the barrier of fire too. Soon enough the Gallan had gone silent. Even if they hadn’t gone anywhere else. We all knew better than to think they would give up so easy.
The Gallan had occupied our desert for nearly two decades. They had put our Sultan on his throne, helping him usurp his father and brother. And in return he had let them impose their laws on us. Let their twisted beliefs guide them to kill Demdji and First Beings. Force our poorest people into dangerous labour to churn out enough weapons for them to fight their wars. Inflict their violence on us without fear of repercussion from the law. The Sultan had let it happen and waited until the Gallan didn’t serve his purposes any more. Only then had he tried to annihilate them using Noorsham, my brother, a Demdji who could flatten cities. He had turned the thing they hated most, magic, against them. But we’d got in the way before Noorsham could finish them off. I wanted the Gallan out as much as anyone, but he would’ve killed a whole lot of Mirajin citizens on his warpath, too. In the end the only thing the Sultan achieved was making enemies of our occupiers. And now here we were, under siege from the largest empire in the world.
They seemed to think they could wait us out on the other side of that wall of fire. But I knew a thing or two about the Sultan. He didn’t play games he didn’t think he could win.
I wondered how many Mirajin villages and towns the Gallan had stormed through on the way to Izman. How many people had died in their path as the Sultan waited for them to come to him.
The Sultan had claimed to me once that his purpose was to protect his country. That he would make Miraji as a force to be reckoned with, one that no foreign army would occupy ever again. And maybe it would be. But every step towards that looked to me like a little more power in the Sultan’s hands, and bodies being trampled on the way. The people of Miraji had not agreed to be pawns in this game the Sultan was playing against foreign invaders.
The Rebellion was going to end the game. As soon as we figured out how the hell to get out of this city.
We were going to get Ahmed back. And Rahim back. And Shazad. And Delila. And all the others who had been captured. And we were going to end this. As soon as we figured out how the hell to get out of this city.
A bead of sweat tracked its way from under my sheema, down my neck and under my kurta.
‘You all right, Bandit?’ Jin asked me, his voice low next to my ear.
I’d have liked to have been able to lie and tell him that I was fit as a fiddle, but since I couldn’t I didn’t answer at all. ‘It’s time.’ I said, spreading my hands out across the city below, sprawling my fingers as far as they would go. ‘Get ready.’