Prologue: The Lamp's Journey

Notes: Thanks to b0b for beta-reading this!

Six Shall be one, the Marid defeated.

In the lands of the West shall be born our salvation.

— The Kalsomid Prophecy

Khoshilat Maqandeli – 1156 AD

“Great Sheikh,” Kalsom binti Abdullah bowed like an ancient oak beneath a raging wind. “I have read the frankincense vapors, and found the husband for your daughter.”

Sheikh Umar ibn al-Jann, Ruler of the Jann Tribe of the Hidden People—whom the mortals called the Djinn—sat on his throne of tourmaline. Finally, after three hundred years of questing, the mortal instrument of prophecy had been divined—the champion who would wrest the Sultanate from the cruel hands Rashid bin Al-Marid. For millennia, the Five Tribes of the Hidden People had shared the rule, passing the Sultanate every one hundred years from the Jann, to the Si’lat, the Ghul, the Ifrit, the Marid, and finally passing back to the Jann, starting the cycle anew.

But Rashid, with the duplicitous Ifrit’s aid, held on to the Sultanate, refusing to pass its rule to Sheikh Umar a thousand years ago, and ruthlessly subjugated the Jann when they had objected. Now the Sheikh’s tribe was too weak to challenge the Marid. And they had no allies; the Ifrit had made their deal, the Si’lat were too involved in their appetites, and the Ghul were too easily appeased with gifts and tributes.

But a mortal not bound by the Hidden Peoples’ laws—

“Who?” Sheikh Umar asked.

“He is known as Yusuf ibn Ayyub,” Kalsom answered, her voice reedy with age. She was the oldest of the Jann, among the first that formed out of dust and vapor. “One day men will call him Salah ad-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub when he rules the mortal Caliphate.”

The Sheikh nodded. A powerful man indeed. “Summon my daughter.”

A moment later his daughter entered; she must have been lurking in the antechamber, once again spying on matters that didn’t concern a woman. She strode the length of his court, the various nobles and warriors in attendance bowed as she passed. His daughter was dressed in her yellow silk pantaloons and vest, her caramel skin darkening the sheer fabric where it pressed against her lithe flesh. Every man in the court lusted after her perfection. Her round face was hidden by the flimsiest of yellow veils, and her dark eyes stared at him with curiosity. She was the loveliest flower of his garden, and it pained him imagining a mortal plucking her. When she reached the base of his throne, she fell to her knees in supplication, and kissed the tasseled slipper of his right foot.

“I am ever your obedient daughter,” she murmured. “What need do you have of me, Father?”

“A husband has been found for you, daughter,” he boomed. “A mortal.”

“I know what is expected of me, father,” she answered calm and respectful. She had been training for this day for two hundred years, patiently waiting, studying the arts of home and harem.

“Then sleep, my flower,” the Sheikh whispered sadly. “You shall awaken in the house of your beloved husband and cleave to him as the first of his wives, the mistress of his harem.”

“My dreams shall be full of my bridegroom’s handsome countenance,” Aaliyah purred, not a hint of fear at her impending imprisonment. Nothing frightened the Hidden People more than being bound to an artifact, at the mercy of a mortal’s tyranny. And she went willingly with the strength and dignity of a Sultana. He held back his tears of pride, they were for the privacy of his harem and his wives ministrations, not for his entire court, and the Marid’s spies, to see.

“Obey him in all things, my beloved daughter, but your powers shall be limited to matters of hearth and harem while you dwell apart from the Unseen Realm.” As he spoke, his words fell like chains about her, limiting the great gift she possessed. She was a Noble Jann, and the power of creation swirled inside her. Too much power to be given to any mortal, even the one who would rescue his people from the Marid’s bondage.

“I understand, Father.”

Kalsom began her chant, setting the plain, brass lamp at Aaliyah’s slippered feet. His daughter glanced at the simple lamp, unafraid. No. Anticipation filled her face; she had awaited this day for two hundred years, keeping her innocence intact for a bridegroom that hadn’t even been born yet. She would guide this Yusuf ibn Ayyub, and free the Hidden People from Rashid’s tyranny.

The chant grew louder, and power filled the room like the searing wind of the desert. Aaliyah’s form wavered, dancing like a mirage on the desert sands. The distortion grew and she fuzzed, her body breaking apart into billowing, yellow dust, the essence of a Jann. The cloud of dust that was his daughter whirled and howled, spinning into a cyclone above the lamp. Faster and faster she spun about, stirring a breeze in the court. Kalsom finished her chant, and the spout of the lamp began to draw his daughter’s dust, sucking her into the plain, brass vessel. He forced himself to watch, even as his heart broke in his chest. The last of the dust vanished; the wind died down.

“Sleep, my daughter,” the Sheikh whispered. He picked up the brass lamp and handed it to Kalsom.

Sahabah – 1156 AD

The Sultan of the Unseen Realm, Rashid bin Al-Marid, absorbed the spies words as he sat upon his sapphire throne. He was silent for many heartbeats, then turned to the beautiful Ifrit kneeling before his throne. He considered her for more heartbeats, his ancient face twitching as he thought, his hands stroking his long, white beard. He had expected this news for three hundred years, ever since that twisted crone had pronounced her prophecy. If he could, he would have every last member of the Jann put to death for their insolence. Alas, laws stronger than death bound his race, and he could not shed their blood without ... consequences.

Chapter 1 »