Abdals.
The sight of them stopped all thoughts of leaping down. I knew what they could do to me if they caught me. And so did every other prisoner here, guessing by the way they worked, eyes down, arms shaking with every stroke into the earth. None of them even looking for an escape.
As I watched, one of the figures wielding a pickaxe collapsed to his knees, breathing hard. He looked skinny and emaciated, like his body had reached the end of what it could do.
Sure enough, he didn’t get back up. One of the Abdals stepped forward.
No. I couldn’t let this happen. I cast around for Zaahir, who was leaning over, watching the scene below. When he caught my eye he raised his eyebrows mockingly. ‘Do you want me to stop it?’
‘Yes,’ I hissed back desperately.
Below, the Abdal rested a metallic palm on the top of the prisoner’s head. The man didn’t try to fight it off or get back up. There on his knees, he leaned forwards until his brow was pressed against the wall. And he prayed.
Zaahir pulled a face. ‘But you also know that stopping him might compromise saving everyone else. And you want that more, don’t you? Dilemma, dilemma.’ I could’ve killed him.
The Abdal’s hand started to glow a fierce red. The man’s praying turned to screaming.
‘Ah well,’ Zaahir said. ‘Too late to decide.’
And then, just like that, the prisoner was ash.
‘Now.’ The Sin Maker’s voice had lost its mockery. He looked on, interested, even as I recoiled from the sight below. ‘That is a novelty.’
I despised him in that moment. But I already knew there wasn’t any easy way out of here. If there was, Shazad would’ve found it and they’d be free. There were so many Abdals and just me.
‘So.’ Zaahir spoke up again. ‘These are the mortals you want to free. Very well.’ I felt the air change around us, like it was solidifying. Whatever Zaahir was doing, I couldn’t stop him now. Watching the prisoners below, I saw a few of them realise that something was happening, though they didn’t know what. They kept working, but some of them winced, as if they were waiting for something terrible to strike them, bowing their heads in anticipation of a blow.
It was as if the air became invisible hands. I could feel them plucking at my clothes. I could see the chains shifting down below. And then the invisible hands pulled apart the chains like they were nothing but thread.
The shackles fell away instantly, hitting the ground with an impossible clatter that filled the inside of the mountain. It was so loud I feared it would wake the Destroyer of Worlds.
Hundreds of prisoners stopped what they were doing as their shackles fell off, looking around, bewilderment overcoming fear. They stared down at their bare wrists, some of them dropping their tools.
‘There,’ Zaahir said. ‘They’re free. Just like you wanted. I would, however, suggest that they start running if you want them alive.’
The Abdals had been staring on mutely. They were pale imitations of us, only as intelligent as they needed to be to accomplish simple mechanical tasks. They didn’t understand that the humans had been released. But they did understand that they had stopped working. And they knew what to do when they stopped working.
As one, hundreds of pale metallic hands raised towards the prisoners, ready to obliterate them.
I felt my heart quicken in fear.
‘Stop them!’ I cried out to Zaahir, not caring about being heard now.
But he just looked on impassively. ‘You said you wanted to free them. They are free. Besides, death is its own sort of freedom. That’s what my brethren dared say to me when they sent your First Hero to her death and locked me up.’
‘You know that’s not what I want,’ I said frantically, staring over the ledge. Some of the prisoners were scrambling to get back to work. Others looked like they might make a run for it, an edge of panic visible on their faces. A few were lifting their pickaxes like weapons, ready to fight, and certainly die. ‘I want to save them.’
‘I know what those creations of metal are,’ he said. ‘I recognise Fereshteh’s soul scattered out among them. What is it that makes you think I would be powerful enough to conquer him when he was among those who imprisoned me?’ He was seeing which one of us would blink first. He wasn’t mortal. He didn’t need to blink. I did.
He wasn’t mortal … but I was. I wondered if I could get a dying wish.
The Abdals were getting closer now, raising their hands, the heat building. And I couldn’t wait any more. I could feel that I was about to do something stupid.
‘If I die down here, then here’s what I want: for you to stay imprisoned in Eremot until the end of time or until you’re sorry for your treason. And I think we both know which will come first.’
I jumped off the ledge, hitting the ground painfully hard. Faces turned towards me as I landed behind the Abdals, wondering what they were seeing. I grabbed a pickaxe that had been discarded on the ground. I swung for an Abdal, striking it hard in the heel again and again until it stopped moving. I dropped back exhausted Another Abdal was facing me, my annihilation ready on its hands. I couldn’t take them all on. I knew that. But I raised the weapon all the same. And then suddenly, like a match coming to life in the dark, Zaahir appeared behind the Abdal.
He placed one hand on to the top of its metallic head.
The Abdal dropped in the blink of an eye. It was like watching the spark of life leave him and be absorbed into Zaahir, a small flame joining with a greater fire. He gave me a sly smile. And then he was gone again in a blink.
It happened too quickly to see. One by one in quick succession the Abdals fell to the ground until, where there had been a wall of soldiers before, there was nothing but metal and clay corpses strewn all over the ground. And prisoners staring on in mute shock, trying to understand what was happening.
‘Amani?’
The voice was so blessedly familiar that I almost dropped to my knees in relief just from hearing it. Like the burden of the Rebellion was being lifted from my shoulders and returned to his. I turned, to see Ahmed standing behind me. He looked nothing like a prince. He was wearing grubby, ill-fitting clothes, and iron cuffs with broken chains hung from his wrists. His face was stained with soot, and he looked like he hadn’t seen a razor in weeks. No one would know him from a pauper on the street.