Hero at the Fall

There’s no such thing as just a story, I’d told him then.

‘He was sent to help us in our time of need.’ Aunt Farrah smiled nastily at my shocked reaction, pleased to be the one to catch me off guard this time. ‘But he protects only the good. Any who come to him who are deemed unworthy …’ She trailed off tauntingly. Bilal had sent soldiers to find him, this man below the mountain – soldiers who never came back. ‘He’s not made of flesh and blood like you and me. He’s made of fire. And he burns the unworthy.’

A man made of fire wasn’t a man. He was a Djinni.

The beginnings of an idea started to form. I had seen what Djinn could do. If there really was one in the mountains … It was such a tempting notion. Facing Ashra’s Wall alone, we didn’t stand a chance. But fighting the legendary with the legendary, fire with Djinni fire – well, that was an idea.

‘Can you take me to him?’ I asked her. ‘Your saviour in the mountain?’

My aunt’s expression was far too knowing and cruel. ‘I can,’ she said. ‘But let me warn you, Blue-Eyed Bandit –’ she fired the name back at me – ‘you have no idea who you’re facing. He knows your heart. And you will burn for each of your sins.’

‘Well,’ I heard Sam say behind her, making my aunt whirl, unsettling her vitriolic composure. He was standing in the doorway, Jin next to him. I wondered how long they’d been witness to our conversation. ‘This sounds like a terrible idea, given how many sins I have.’

‘We should get going then,’ Jin said, clapping Sam on the back jovially. ‘You can count them on the way.’

*

Tamid was the only one of us who wasn’t apprehensive following my aunt out of the ruins of Dustwalk into the mountains. He had a family we were going to find. He had reason to be excited. I had a family, too. I just didn’t want to see them again. Aunt Farrah was already enough. But still, the thought of the man in the mountain kept me putting one foot in front of the other when all I really wanted was to turn back around.

I realised where Aunt Farrah was leading us a few paces before anyone else did. It was close to dusk, and we were deep in the mountains. I’d been on this road once before, with Jin, fleeing on the back of a Buraqi from the chaos in Dustwalk. I could almost taste the iron from the mines in the air as we wound our way up the slope, getting closer, until finally, in the last of the light, we crested over a steep rise, and Sazi came into view. The ancient mountain mining town. Or at least it had been mines before my brother, Noorsham, burned them down using his power.

But Sazi was nothing like the town I remembered.

Last time we were here, Sazi had been a desperate collection of ramshackle houses clinging to the skin of the mountain. But those were gone now, as if they’d been decimated by thousands of years, though it had only been one year. On the outskirts, we passed a lone building that hadn’t completely been destroyed. One wall still stood, a colourful sign swinging above the door: the Drunk Djinni, the bar where I’d left Jin unconscious on a table before making a run for it. Now, instead of booze-stained bar tables, in the shadow of the single remaining wall was a bright canopy, using the wall as support.

Aunt Farrah stopped walking abruptly. ‘There are no weapons allowed beyond this point.’

Immediately the twins held up their hands. ‘Don’t look at us.’

‘Or me.’ Tamid was breathing hard from the walk up the mountain. But he had refused my help over and over until I’d stopped offering it.

That left the three of us.

Reluctantly I unbuckled my holster. The boys followed suit. Sam gave his guns a quick, showy and totally impractical twirl around his fingers before offering them to Aunt Farrah. Jin and I handed over our knives and guns, too.

‘Is that everything?’ Aunt Farrah demanded as she leaned them gingerly against the wall. I could see stacks of weapons under the canopy now, guns and bombs and swords and knives. A whole arsenal stored in the crumbled building. ‘He will know if you’ve kept anything hidden.’

It wasn’t everything. I’d seen Jin hold back one of his pistols, tucking it into his belt before pulling his shirt over it. I fiddled with the spare bullet I’d kept in my pocket. Between the two of us we had a working weapon. ‘I’m all out of knives and guns.’ It was the closest to an honest answer I could give. But it seemed to satisfy her. ‘Aunt Farrah,’ I asked as she started walking again, ‘what is this place?’

‘We saw the error of our ways.’ Aunt Farrah’s hands were folded in her khalat. Her hard demeanour had suddenly changed as we passed some invisible barrier into the camp, her head bowing like she was going to prayers. ‘We were arrogant to try to claim this world for our own by building houses in the sands when we are meant to roam it.’

Sure enough, as we pressed deeper into what was left of Sazi, there were hundreds of tents, a riot of colours dotting the otherwise bleak mountain landscape. And among them were hundreds of people, more than all of Dustwalk, Deadshot and Sazi put together. Men and women crowded between tents and small fires, laughing and talking. Clusters of women sat together sewing a patch in a torn tent canvas. A group of men seemed to be carving things out of wood. It reminded me of the camp we’d lost, a sanctuary hidden from the world.

Two children dashed past us, screaming with laughter. And to my surprised I recognised one of them.