The Sabaoth's Arrow Read online

  Last night, he’d followed the magi up the passageway leading to Iram’s hidden exit and, once they’d raised a dome, traced their footsteps in the wind-smoothed sand. The two men hadn’t gone far—around the corner from the cave’s entrance and behind it—before they’d stopped. He half-expected a portal to appear. Indentations appeared in the sand where they’d sat down.

  Six hours later, none of the soldiers from below had appeared, and no one had collected the magi.

  Emad touched his bracelet to check on Fiqitush. He sensed the determination keeping his brother’s exhaustion at bay. Emad perceived something else. It felt like simultaneous relief and sadness.

  His fingertips hovered over the silver band for a second touch. Emad shook his head. Although he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to reach out to either Roshan or Navid. He didn’t want to make them uncomfortable or question why he’d done such a thing.

  So much had happened in the four days following his rescue from Derbicca. Just two days earlier, his brother had informed him of his paternity. Emad still reeled from that news. It hadn’t taken long to accept Fiqitush’s reason for keeping the twins a secret from him. He’d only known their mother, Shafira, for less than a week. She’d gotten to know him well enough in that short time to know he’d make a lousy father. He hadn’t wanted the responsibility that came with his title. So, why would he want to be tied down by children?

  After so long, how do I make it up to them? he wondered.

  Emad pondered the question. No immediate answer came. Roshan and Navid had done well enough without him. How would it help, their knowing he was their father?

  Soldiers, five, carrying swords and shields, appeared out of mid-air. Emad’s chilled bones made it hard to stand up.

  The two magi flickered and then solidified. They walked towards the men.

  Emad took a step and stopped.

  The soldiers carried iron shields. Ten more paces and they’d leave him incapacitated. Then, seeing the high magus emerge behind the soldiers, Emad growled his frustration.

  Emad cast his eye about for something real, physical and non-magical to hurl at or drop on the high magus. Thanks to their shields, anything magical, like the wind his brother had whipped up and flung at the soldiers down in Iram, would fizzle out. A flash of green drew his attention back to the group.

  Emad saw a daeva merge the destination and boarding windows. Without touching his bracelet and alerting him, Emad couldn’t tell how much the daeva had struggled before falling under the seal’s influence.

  All he could do was stand and watch while the two magi, their heads bowed, entered the portal. Through a gap in the soldiers’ cordon, Emad spied how the high magus’s eyelids drooped and his eyes hardly blinked. Emad recognised the stupor poppy juice produced. He’s seen it on the faces of lounging noblemen during his visits to Kemet. If the high magus was using the stuff, it might make him vulnerable.

  It will also make him unpredictable.

  The thought made Emad shiver. When he’d first encountered the high magus in Derbicca, Emad saw nothing to suggest that Sassan, like his other magi, used poppy juice. What had happened? Why was he using it now?

  Stiff and slow, the high magus turned and disappeared into the portal. One by one, the soldiers did the same. Their shields’ repulsive force decreased, making it easier for Emad to approach the portal.

  Without realising he’d recited the incantation, Emad held a scimitar. The speed of his decision stunned him.

  The high magus knew Iram’s location. Thanks to the seal, he had the means of returning again and again. But what of Baka? After the trouble caused by a dozen soldiers and a golem, what kind of chaos could he unleash on hundreds of daevas living in tents?

  Emad tightened his grip on the scimitar’s hilt. From the daeva’s behaviour, it looked as though the seal continued to exert its influence all the way from Arshak. If he could hand the sword to another, let them perform the deed, he wouldn’t. He was doing this for all those in Iram and everyone just waking up in Baka. Emad also thought of Navid and Roshan. He’d do this as much for them as the djinn and daevas.

  The daeva probably had a family, one that might already be in Baka, worrying about him. It wasn’t his fault he was here, helping the high magus. But his sacrifice would set back the high magus’s plans and buy the djinn and daevas more time.

  He thought about collapsing his dome of invisibility and silence but decided it would be a kindness if the daeva didn’t know what was about to happen to him.

  The last soldier stepped through the portal. Emad raised the scimitar and closed the three paces between him and the daeva.

  ‘Sorry, brother,’ Emad said, and then cut off the daeva’s head.

  30

  Dwarfed by the palace’s double doorway, Roshan watched the djinn departing through the king’s mauve portal. They had returned from Baka for their belongings, which they carried as bundles tucked under their arms. Some helped carry trunks filled with tablets and papyri taken from Iram’s library. The children herded the goats that had descended the cavern’s walls soon after dawn—they, like the eagles, knew the djinn were leaving.

  Except for the goats’ bleats and the odd cry of surprise as an eagle swooped into the portal, the line of djinn was silent. Roshan couldn’t tell if it was tiredness, resignation at leaving their home sooner than later, or both that stooped their shoulders and dulled their eyes.

  Navid appeared at her side. He carried a bag under his arm.

  ‘Is that everything?’ she said.

  Rested, he’d returned from Baka just before dawn.

  Navid patted the bag, then nodded.

  ‘Not much to show for two years,’ he said.

  Navid was joking. Their possessions didn’t reflect how events over the past eight days had changed them and their situation.

  Her brother scanned the line of djinn. They left through a single portal so Shephatiah could log what they carried with them into Baka.

  ‘Where’s Behrouz?’

  Roshan closed her eyes and held her breath for a count of five.

  ‘He left for Baka just after dawn. He wanted to tell Zana what’s happened to Yesfir before the news spread.’ She bowed her head.

  ‘Hey,’ Navid said, and gave her a one-armed hug, ‘it’s not your fault.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘It’s not that. The king’s prohibited anyone from launching a rescue until Iram is evacuated.’

  Navid looked to be considering the reasoning behind such a command.

  ‘Now that the high magus has the seal, trying to rescue Yesfir won’t be as straightforward as Derbicca was—and that wasn’t straightforward.’

  Navid was right, but that wasn’t why Roshan found it difficult to accept the command.

  ‘Yesfir’s his daughter,’ she said. ‘It can’t have been easy to decide such a thing. I know he wants to avoid other djinn being captured, but still, she’s his daughter.’

  Navid pointed at Emad. The prince stood next to the king with his hands behind his back. Emad’s brow furrowed whenever he looked at his brother.

  ‘Looks like he doesn’t agree with the decision either.’

  Roshan slipped from under Navid’s arm and strolled towards the queue.

  ‘Earlier this morning, when I went to the king’s chambers—I wanted to apologise for what had happened to Yesfir. I heard him arguing with the prince. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, so I knocked on the door. The argument was about the king and not Yesfir.’

  They joined the queue of djinn, which had shortened since Navid’s arrival with their belongings. Roshan surveyed the city. Apart from the obvious destruction close to the palace, Iram looked no different to when she’d first seen it. Now, even with the sun’s rays lighting rooftops and clearing the streets of shadows, the city felt empty and already forgotten. She tried to imagine how Iram might have been one or two centuries before, the markets above the docks busy, boats leaving and entering through portals and t
he flurry of life echoing off the cavern’s walls.

  Could the king turn Baka into a new Iram? she wondered. Now the high magus possesses the seal, is it right to even think such a thing? How hopeful are the djinn about starting new lives under such conditions?

  ‘I doubt we’ll see this place again,’ Navid said.

  She nodded. Her brother was right.

  But this couldn’t have been how the king imagined the djinn would leave Iram, their home for three centuries. The djinn and daevas settling into Baka, making it their new home, would have to wait until, somehow, they separated the seal from the high magus and found a way to end his persecution of the daevas.

  Just a few steps from the portal, Roshan resolved to protect them all. Her dithering, her thinking too much about the consequences of using sabaoth magic, caused Yesfir’s capture. Once all the djinn were in Baka, she’d help Behrouz rescue Yesfir. Then, if she had to, she’d weave sabaoth magic and deal with the consequences later.

  END OF BOOK 2

  The Baka Djinn Chronicles continue with City of Daevas.

  High Magus Sassan and his army appear outside a sand-filled and crumbling Baka. If she’s going to help the djinn and daevas ready the city for war, Roshan must put aside her desire to take the fight to the high magus. Doing so, however, will leave her weak and vulnerable.

  Meanwhile, worried about Yesfir, Behrouz and Zana are desperate to rescue her. When ordered to remain in Baka, Zana goes in search of the Cross Scar manticores for help.

  As guardsmen and golems being their attack on Baka, Roshan must make an impossible choice, one that will either save the djinn and daevas or doom Baka and its inhabitants to endless slavery.

  A note from the author

  Thank you for reading this book. This book is part of the first trilogy in the Baka Chronicles. Reader reviews will help me determine whether to keep the series going. Whether it’s brief or detailed, your feedback will make a huge difference.

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  About the Author

  J F Mehentee is a British-born Asian with Persian ancestry. A lifelong reader of fantasy and science fiction, he’s always looking for ways to combine his interest in Asian and Middle Eastern mythology with storytelling.

  After spending three years in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, he now lives in Colombo, Sri Lanka, where he writes full-time—all the while dreaming of one day playing jazz flute like Ron Burgundy.

  To learn more, visit www.jfmehentee.com, or subscribe to the newsletter by clicking here.

  Acknowledgments

  Producing the Baka Chronicles has been a team effort. I couldn’t have created this series without help from the following professionals:

  Structural editor: James Christy,

  Copy editor: Richard Shealy,

  Cover designer: Deranged Doctor Design.

  Finally, huge THANK YOUs to Ginny for her love and encouragement and to my brother, V, who’s read just about everything I’ve ever written—first drafts included!

  Copyright © 2019

  J F Mehentee

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

  Published by P in C Publishing

  ePub ISBN: 978-1-912402-20-5