Slaves of Mortals, Part I
by Patrick Kapera

"Mortals are convinced that the Jinn are our slaves, that the masters of fire and magic are merely pawns in the eternal human game. But the Ancients knew better - they remembered a time when the jinn were free, striding the world with godly might. Only the jinn, first-born of Shilah and her husband, Kaleel, knew the awesome secrets of the stars and how to destroy them." -Israk ibn Kaleel

"It is the doom of mortals that they forget." - Mekhem the Prophet

The Jinn of Eternal Beauty stepped aside as a crowd of children raced through the tremendous ballroom, smiling widely before returning to her conversation. Others turned to glance at the boisterous chain of youngsters as well, momentarily distracted from the propriety of celebration to enjoy a moment of innocence. Nim, heading the fun, swirled around Ayna's feet and torso before pausing above his shoulder, his laughter the sound of wind-chimes in a gentle breeze. But Ayna, the Jinn of Brutal Harvest, only leveled his feral gaze at the small, floating annoyance.

Feigning the pain of rejection, Nim pulled backward, plucked a rose from a nearby vase, and bowed mid-air in mock supplication. Ayna's feet were now embedded in a sea of cats mewing for his acceptance of Nim's gift. One eyebrow on his monstrous face darted upward as he considered the best way to remove Nim from his presence. The crowd hushed around him, suddenly amused by Nim's antics - even at the cost of Ayna's pride.

Finally, the Jinn of Brutal Harvest leered into Nim's playful face and reached forward to grasp the rose's thorny stem. Instantly, the newly-plucked flower coiled about Ayna's arm, sprouting a dozen new buds that promptly blossomed into full, radiant beauty. A delighted gasp rose all over the ballroom, followed by cheerful applause. Nim bowed respectfully, then darted away at the head of the children and cats once more, slipping out of the room before conversation resumed.

"It is amazing, is it not, Ashalla?" Khaidu spoke, but the attentions of the Ebonite sahir he addressed were drawn over the great railing of the balcony, onto a lower level of the great floating citadel where a steady stream of wounded Ebonite templars flowed into Sehai's quarters.

"...Hmm? I'm sorry, Khan. I was..."

"Are you all right?" the Moto asked, concerned.

"yes. Yes, of course," Ashalla responded, her eyes now riveted upon another bridge beside the great spire of flame that spiked through the citadel's center. A lone figure crossed from the other side, his face and hands brutally exposed - as if he had just returned from the storms to the northeast...

"If you'll excuse me, there is someone I must speak with." Ashalla's words left no room for further pleasantries, and she left Khaidu to a moment of uncomfortable silence that lasted until another guest took her place.

Pashal pushed open the giant bronze doors at the end of the bridge and peered into the dim hallways beneath the headquarters of the Celestial Alliance. Still reeling from the amazing truths he'd learned from the Bearer of the Jidan, he stumbled through the citadel and wondered about his next course of action. He couldn't just tell them and expect anyone to understand. How could they? Even after a year, everyone still assumed that the Ashalan and the Keepers of the Chronicle had abandoned them - and at the eve of war, no less.

How could anyone understand that is was for their own good?

The squire stepped into the temple, heading for the altar. Perhaps the stars would have something more to tell him, or he would find the calm of mind that had eluded him since his meeting with Qer Apet...

Suddenly, the room exploded into a flurry of wailing arms and voices. Children hopped around him and screamed, the words lost to one another. Pashal, unprepared for such an assault, backed away dizzily, holding his hand up to his brow as if to shield him from the children and their sharp joy. But this only turned the sounds of laughter and greeting to shrieks of alarm. The children backed away, starting at Pashal's upturned hand and gravel-stained face.

Nim, appearing before Pashal seemingly from nowhere, gently clasped the squire's hand and examined it. Until then, Pashal had not realized how badly injured he was. The lines in his black-stained hands were like canyons, and the calluses on his fingers marred them beyond recognition. He doubted that he could have lifted a sword or drawn back a bowstring. He could not feel anything below the elbow, and his face stung and tickled all at once beneath a thick veneer forged by the sand and the wind near the buried City of Bronze.

Nim's face, normally frozen in a perpetual smile, fell slightly, as if he felt Pashal's pain. he didn't speak but simply tugged at Pashal's clothes to lead him to Sehai the Healer. The other children and the cats fell in line beside them, feeding from Nim's sadness.

"You're back!" Ashalla exclaimed, hugging Pashal closely. "What happened? Did you find the City of..." His voice trailed off she suddenly realized his condition.

"No," Pashal responded. "Nothing. Only sand."

"We need to get you to Sehai." Ashalla took his hand and led him out of the room, assuring the children that he was all right, returning them to their play.

"The wedding" It's happening already?" Pashal noticed the decorations about the citadel as Ashalla led him into its belly.

"You've been gone for weeks, Pashal," Ashalla answered.

"Weeks? It seems like only days..."

"That can happen in the storms. But don't worry. You've made it home - and just in time! The ceremony doesn't start until tomorrow. Saqr al Fediq and Sahalah are still in the Searching."

"Those Templars," Pashal pointed ahead to the lines of wounded. "What happened?"

Ashalla watched Pashal carefully. He was different somehow, as if consumed from within. The squire seemed troubled, burdened with heavy thoughts, yet his spirit seemed stronger than ever. Ashalla wondered again what had happened to him, out there in the desert waste. She smiled reassuringly and drew him toward the healer's rooms. "Perhaps we shall find out together."


Sehai's quarters were a quiet flurry as the healer passed from one wounded Ebonite to the next, doing what he could for each and flagging critical patients. Pashal was exhausted but far better off than most of those whom the healer attended, so he found a nice, simple cushion away from the front rooms, where he could lie down. After he had spent a few minutes alone, a string of lightly wounded soldiers passed outside the door to the small chamber where he rested. Pashal called out to them, asking what had happened. "How were so many of us wounded?" he asked.

"The Jackals," a templar responded. "They tried to gain control of the Stone again."

"But we fought them off!" another called from the back of the crowd. "They won't forget their mistake!"

The crowd parted for Effendi, the former prince of Medinaat al Salaam, who stepped through to stand beside the squire's makeshift bed.

"How are you, Pashal?" Effendi smiled. "You've looked better."

Effendi's smile was infectious, and Pashal returned it. The Sultan's blood had always been jovial, a trait inherited by both of his children. "I live, Effendi. I live. How is your sister? Enjoying her wedding, I hope!"

"Sahlah is happier than I have ever known. Who knows?" Effendi turned and lifted his hands in conjecture. "Perhaps the jinn can love, after all."

The two fell into a moment of silence, remembering when they first arrived at the citadel nearly a year before. People knew Saqr al Fediq as a human sahir then, though one with amazing knowledge of lost magic. He visited the Sultan's court from "parts unknown" to introduce a miraculous method of transport called "The Crossroads." Saqr had always kept to himself, refusing to join the Sultan's festivals or speak outside open court. And no one ever saw him in his personal chambers.

yet Saqr was not without a heart. He courted the Sultan's daughter, Sahlah, relentlessly, promising to make her the happiest woman alive if she would accept his hand. She refused, out of loyalty to tradition if nothing else. The Sultan's line could not marry out of their caste, regardless of their heart. But it was obvious to those around her even then - especially her brother Effendi - that the stranger enchanted her.

When the Erba'a Alliance descended on the city and the Caliph murdered the Sultan, the mysterious sahir revealed himself as a jinn who had taken human form, and he offered to save as many of the Sultan's people as he could - beginning with Sahlah and her brother. betrayed yet desperate, the two had little choice but to accept, and Saqr transported them here, to the one remaining jinn citadel free from Shilah's ancient wrath. From the high parapets of the citadel, they had watched as their precious jewel burned and the people of the sands destroyed one another.

"Saqr al Fediq has promised to make her happy," Effendi finally continued, "and I am confident that he can. They have my blessing."

Pashal's smile lingered even as his mind returned to pressing matters. "Is Nepherus at the citadel?"

"No. He's with Adira in the city, trying to end the riots. The Houses of Dahab haven't lifted their trade embargoes yet, and the people of the Outer Districts are still revolting. I'm leaving after the wedding to meet with them, but... I'm not sure what good it will do."

"Still having doubts?"

"If I were a good son, I would be down there guiding the city. My father wished for me to rule."

"You are a good son, Effendi," Pashal chuckled. "You're just not an obedient one. You're defending Medinaat al Salaam in the only way you know - by fighting. If you were Sultan, you would be bound by propriety and the masses."

"But what good are we doing up here? Planning for a war while our subjects starve? Defending the city while entire villages are lost to Kaleel...?"

The squire's eye's fell, and his mind raced; no one else could answer Effendi's questions. The Ashalan, who would normally be Effendi's counsel, were gone, and the Principles were still learning from their ancient texts. Pashal needed to know the rest of the prophecy - of the Days of Trial and the coming storm.

"May I have a moment with him, Effendi?" Kabdar Fassal was near the bed, his khadja planted into the floor beside him. "I have private words for him."

"Of course, Templar," Effendi replied. With a final glance of support, he rose and retreated to the wedding celebration.

After Effendi left and Fassal determined that no others could hear them, he sat beside the wounded squire. he sighed deeply, considering his words with the greatest care. Pashal had never known Kabdar to be this discerning. "What's wrong, Kabdar?"

"We found something. After the fighting at the Temple, a few of us discovered a wall collapsed by one of the Jackals' volleys. There are hidden tunnels beneath the Temple..."

"As we always suspected," Pashal prompted.

"Just inside one of the branch tunnels, though, we found something else - a jinn corpse."

"Dead? How?"

"It is best you see for yourself."

* * * * *

As the final ceremony wedding jinn to human became a reality hundreds of feet above them, Kabdar al Fassal, Pashal, and a handful of stunned Ebonite Templars observed another miracle.

"He's human," Pashal marveled as he observed the scene: two figures, both long-dead, locked in a final battle-pose. A glossy black sword gripped in the hands of a human attacker pinned a jinn, thin and wiry, up against the tunnel wall. "But...no jinn has ever died by the hands of a human."

"Tabari was only part human," Fassal reminded the squire, lifting the remnants of the Shadowmaster's cloak as proof. "And no human has attacked a jinn in recorded history. Perhaps it is only a myth - the immortality of the jinn. What concerns me is this."

Fassal pointed to the weapon, a remarkable feat of martial engineering. The blade's surface gained a sheen from the torchlight and rippled as the Templars moved about it. IT was as if the weapon was made from tar, yet fluid like water. But its most amazing attribute was its reaction to its surroundings. A few quick tests determined that it was not sentient, but reactionary, recoiling from sharp prodding but conforming to touch applied gradually.

"It responds without mind, like a young child," Fassal observed.

"Or a sleeping adult," Pashal said; with that, the Ebonites backed away to a safe distance to discuss their options.

Pashal began. "Tabari did not have the power to destroy a jinn. Bind and control one, perhaps, but certainly not anything like this."

"The jinn is Gathriq," Fassal interrupted, "who killed Tabari's brother, Dawuud, just before the Awakening. it was a powerful spirit - one of Kaleel's chosen, according to the ancient Ashalan texts."

"We need to conduct more research," Pashal continued, "starting with you, Fassal. You're already familiar with the jinn. You need to continue digging. Try to find anything relating to this sword."

Fassal nodded, then Pashal turned to the others. "We need to get the sword back to the citadel."


Kaleel, sequestered within Onaja's small form, inhaled the contents of another soul-jar, his mind loose and warm as another of the jackals' victims vanished into him. The jinn lord had always enjoyed the suffering of others, but the Jackals' process of stealing and containing souls was unprecedented. The victims suffered the agony of losing their bodies, then isolation in a magical cell devoid of sight, sound or touch. By the time Kaleel consumed them, they were like a vintage wine, their terror sweet and pungent.

A murmur among the free jinn hovering within the downed citadel throne-room alerted Kaleel to visitors. he took another long moment to revel in the intoxicating vapors wafting from the soul-jar beneath his inhuman face before gazing upon the humans brought before him: Fatima the half-Soul and her ally, the Monkey Man, with word from the Jackals, no doubt.

"Speak." Kaleel's voice echoed through the buried citadel's chambers like rolling thunder.

"Word from the Jewel, my lord," the Monkey Man began. "The Sayel Blade has been recovered."
"Excellent," Kaleel growled.

"But," Fatima intervened, "not by us."

"What?" Kaleel suddenly focused upon the three Jackals, bearing down on them. "By who, then?"

"The Alliance."

"A moment of silence followed, the only sound in the hall the crawling skin and clacking mandibles of Kaleel's legions. Tension swelled around the jinn lord as he considered the consequences of losing the Sayel - or worse, of the Quest finding it. When he finally spoke, his words dripped with blood. "Find it. Bring the sword back to me. Do this, and you will be spared the coming holocaust."

The Jackals glanced quickly at one another, skirting the jinn lord's gaze as they scurried from the hall. All but two of Kaleel's fledgling jinn horde followed, leaving the fallen god to his thoughts. Abjar and Akhad remained with their sibling, waiting for the command they knew would come.

"I will not be denied again, brothers," Kaleel uttered after a time. "The Quest must not enter the war against us."

"Your command?" The brothers loomed over Kaleel's childlike form, scarcely containing their anticipation.

Onaja's slight voice could not convey the weight of Kaleel's order, nor the untold destruction it would unleash.

"Bring Israk home."

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