The Unbottled Idol (Chapter 13)

The Manticore Style is suboptimal for arena combat. Most of the techniques that earned its notoriety are illegal under official Black Hand League rules. This guide only advises the style  for individuals in certain military or Inquisitorial occupations. Arena fighters who master it choose to hamstring themselves in favor of battles they are unlikely to ever fight.

- A Beginner’s Guide to Black Hand, Chapter 4: Techniques and Disciplines

Kowsari fires.

Blood spurts from the ifrit’s side. It still sweeps Jannat up and rolls – no, glides – over the sofa. The dæmon crashes through the front window and flies out into the courtyard.

I hurl myself after it. By the time I leap through the window, the ifrit is at the exit of the courtyard, carrying Jannat on its shoulder as it glides away. By the time I leave the courtyard, it’s already half a block away. I sprint as fast as Black Hand will allow, but even with my muscles pushed past human limitations, the ifrit has an entire block’s lead before I reach the first interaction. It swerves left and disappears – probably cutting through another townhouse compound.

Tires screech behind me. Kowsari pulls up and throws open the auto’s passenger door. I pinch off my connection to the Soul before diving inside. Kowsari rams the accelerator, sending us hurtling after the ifrit.

“Well, I think that went rather well,” Kowsari declares. She’s bare-headed now. A quick glance into the back seat confirms that her headscarf and confidant’s cap are tangled up in the footwell.

“Do you think we gave Internal –” My breath catches as Kowsari swerves left, nearly smashing us into an auto traveling the opposite direction. “– Morality enough?”

“It’s enough evidence for me to spin things for the Prelate … if you can tie up the loose end.” She gives me a pointed look.

“Just get me close,” I growl.

Kowsari whips us right at the next intersection. I catch a glimpse of the ifrit ahead as it zigzags into another townhouse compound. For a split second, I think Kowsari will loop around the building to intercept, but instead, she twists the wheel. We skid sideways across the pavement, coming to a perfect halt in front of the compound. Kowsari launches us through the narrow entryway. The wing mirror on my side snaps off with a loud crack.

The ifrit looks back at us as we burst into the courtyard. I see its eyes widen. It tosses Jannat into the air, holding her aloft on the pillar of distortion, and plants its feet.

Kowsari guns the engine – which stutters as the ifrit invokes the Soul.

Instinctively, I throw my door open and launch myself out.

Kowsari rams into the ifrit. Instead of flattening the ifrit or throwing it across the hood, the impact crumples the auto’s hood. The rear wheels briefly leave the ground as momentum threatens to flip the auto over the Soul-fortified dæmon. When it slams back down, the rear axle breaks with a piercing crack.

The ifrit extracts itself from the auto’s hood and takes stock. I see the slightest of nods as it marked Kowsari, trapped inside the cabin. It sneers and turns its back on me when it spies me behind the wreck. Jannat gently falls back towards its waiting arms.

I spring up onto the auto and launch myself off the roof, twisting over the ifrit’s head and tackling Jannat out of the air.

It’s a risky move, but Kambūjiya is watching out for me. I’m on the bottom when Jannat and I hit the ground. We bounce once before skidding to a halt. I hastily roll her off me.

The ifrit bellows like a wounded hippo and barrels into me before I can find my feet. The pair of us fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs. It’s far stronger than me, both physically and magically, but I’ve struck a nerve, and now it’s unfocused. Our tumble ends with me straddling its chest. I claw at its face and throat, shallow strikes that nonetheless draw more greenish blood.

Weightless distortion rolls over me. The ifrit buckles, flinging me over its head. By the time I scramble upright, the ifrit has pulled Jannat back into its grip. It holds her vertically between the pair of us.

I balk.

That’s all the ifrit needs to take a deep breath and find its center. It glances back at the auto to see Kowsari hauling herself from the wreck. In a flash, it spins and rises onto one leg, positioning Jannat as a shield against Kowsari while it menaces me with the threat of a snap kick.

“It’s done!” it spits. “You can’t stop me without killing her! If you want her to live, you will let us both go!”

“You wouldn’t dare harm her.” I settle into a fighting stance, fingers curled to strike. I’ll need to goad it into a kick, then go for the leg itself.

“Would you?” the ifrit retorts. “Would the Manticore God approve of you smiting a child in the Archon’s name?”

I gnash my teeth and spring forward.

The ifrit kicks, and I dodge …right into the arc of distortion that ripples out from the ifrit’s other foot.

My body grows intolerably heavy. I crash to one knee. Before I can recover, the ifrit pivots smoothly and kicks again.

My head rings. I lose my grip on the Soul. I barely feel myself tumbling across the cobbles. I do feel the impact when I slam into someone’s front step.

Through my daze, I hear the ifrit scoff, “Disappointing and predictable. How about you, Inquisitor? Are you prepared to –”

The ifrit is struck dumb. In that same instant, blood and sulfur claw at my nose. There’s a tremor through the Soul, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The sensations are better than any smelling salts. I’m instantly alert again, though my head still rings.

“Submit!” Kowsari barks. Her voice rumbles through the Golden Veil, as if she’s speaking from a thunderhead, and each syllable sends another tremor through the Soul. Her left hand is held high, with the broken binding ring proudly displayed on her left index finger.

I gape. What is that supposed to do?

“You think that trinket can control me anymore?” it scoffs, though its voice suddenly sounds strained. “It has nothing I –”

“I want you to submit to me,” Kowsari booms, her voice continuing to reverberate through the Veil and the Soul. “Put the girl down.”

The Soul ripples around the ifrit. It shakes its head. “I … I won't.”

“Do you need precise wording? I wish for you to submit.” Kowsari takes two steps forward.

The ifrit’s arms shake, and it takes one step back. “There’s nothing left in that ring to reward me,” it rasps.

That’s true – yet, in this moment, the ifrit sounds more like it’s trying to convince itself. I can’t tell which side of its internal conflict is winning. All I can tell is that it’s too distracted to hold its grip on the Soul. More ripples reverberate around it as power bleeds out.

Kowsari takes another few steps towards the ifrit, moving to the right as she does. “Are you sure? Do you know that? How can you, unless you answer my wish?”

“I … I won’t.” The ifrit moves away from her, allowing her to close the gap while it pivots to keep Jannat between them.

In doing so, it full turns its back on me.

I pray to the Shepherd. The Soul oozes into me. I pull in just enough power to fortify my hands before pinching off the power. Pushing myself upright, I stagger towards the ifrit.

Shepherd, make my claws as diamond.

“I can give you power the girl never could,” Kowsari presses. “You feel it, don’t you? That glorious potential?”

“I won’t grovel before you!” the ifrit hisses, visibly shaking now.

“Yet you’re still standing here. You know I can offer you a fix that the girl can’t provide. Do you have any idea how long the drugs will keep her unconscious? How long you’ll wait before she offers you another prayer? Stop fighting. Put her down. Granting my wish and reap your reward.”

I’m close enough now to hear the ifrit’s ragged breaths. “I won’t. She’s mine. I can do better than –”

Perhaps the ifrit sensed my desire, but its breath catches then. It whips towards me. The Soul surges as it tries to defend itself.

Before it can shape that power, my claws find its throat.

*                              *                              *                              *                              *

“So,” Prelate Dutt summarizes, “you two wrapped up this affair rather tidily, didn’t you?”

The skepticism in her tone is worryingly thick. However, at least she isn’t glaring at either myself or Kowsari. I hope that means the past two days of debriefings and reports have at least mollified her.

“I’d certainly like to think so, ma’am,” Kowsari answers. “How have the Parīstānis reacted?”

“They’ve vigorously denied that Shapiev was keeping an ifrit slave … but now that they’ve verified what the ring is and confirmed the ifrit was bound to it, they won’t risk the allegations becoming public.” Dutt’s gaze darts to me.

I do my best to keep a blank expression. Letting Shapiev take the fall as a willing master of the ifrit still doesn’t sit well with me, but I couldn’t figure out a way to exonerate her without damning Jannat. Exposing Peynirci’s manipulation would lead to Peynirci testifying before an inquisitorial tribunal. Once he did that, it wouldn’t be hard for other Inquisition sages to connect the dots I have.

Dutt may have figured things out anyway. Her tone is rather pointed when she asks, “What’s your assessment of the hunter Amāstrī exploited? Can we expect any more trouble from her?”

“It’s impossible to judge that at this point, Prelate. She’s certainly willing to keep hunting if Amāstrī asks it, but I’m confident she’ll cooperate with any guidelines we set for her. It all comes down to Amāstrī herself, though. Sometimes the yazatas only use a hunter once or twice, to address a specific threat. It may be that, with the ifrit dead, Amāstrī will have no further use for her.” It’s a generic answer that could apply to literally any pious person, but it’s better than trying my luck at lying to Dutt’s face.

“I expect you to keep a close eye on her. Zealotry and youthful ignorance can be a dangerous combination, if the wrong people take advantage of it,” Dutt growls.

I swallow. “Of course, Prelate.”

“I hope you won’t expect to requisition body armor and sedatives for future interviews. If you expect to be ambushed by a dæmon or daeva, leave the matter to the storm troopers. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Prelate.”

With the faintest of sighs, Dutt addresses Kowsari again. “The Archon has been contacted about the ring. He’ll be seeing to its destruction personally. We have an armored rail car heading to Kadmía tonight – I want you and the ring on it.”

“In that case, ma’am, I’d better run home to pack a suitcase.” Kowsari rises from her chair.

Dutt holds up a hand. “One question, Major – why didn’t you use the ring on the ifrit in the Nikbin house? Why wait until you were in the open?”

“Honestly, Prelate?”

“That would be preferred.”

“Because I wasn’t sure it would work.”

“Yet Internal Morality observed you snatched the ring from Mrs. Nikbin before you answered Captain Yavari’s cry for help. Why bother if you truly thought the ring was broken?”

Kowsari shrugs. “I didn’t want to break the chain of evidence.”

Dutt’s sigh is far louder this time. “I trust you will remain consistent with that answer if asked in the future.”

“Don’t I always, ma’am?”

Dutt dismisses Kowsari with a wave. Without sparing me a second glance, she reaches for the stack of reports on her desk. I take that as a dismissal for myself as well.

*                              *                              *                              *                              *

The stink of ifrit magic that always permeates the chapterhouse basement threatens to choke me on the walk back to my office. Surely, it can’t have gotten worse in the past few days, yet I find my heart racing. Unwelcome images keep bubbling up in my mind: the Nikbin household, the ifrit’s claw on Jannat’s head, the headlong rush through the streets. As soon as I’m ensconced in my office, I light the last of my lavender-scented incense. It’s my last stick.

I could have sworn I had a week’s supply just the other day. Kowsari’s right. I’ll need to look into dried flowers.

The fragrance of the incense doesn’t push the ifrit magic out of my office, but it does mask the scent. More importantly, it’s nostalgic. My grandfather’s house always smelled like this, during the years he’d sheltered me.

Unbidden, one of the ifrit’s taunts comes back to me. “Who are you to deny this girl the liberation you claimed for yourself?”

Jannat’s no longer in danger of being punished for the ifrit’s crime, but there’s still the matter of her family to consider. Fine people, I’m sure, but the same could be said for my own parents. That doesn’t make it any easier for a child to grow up in a house where she’s written off as a barbarian.

Thankfully, Jannat’s on the Register now. She’ll remain logged as an active asset of the yazatas for the next year. That gives me a little time to provide her with guidance. I’m certainly not to suggest that she run away from home, but at least I can fortify her spirit.

I dig out my stationary and begin writing a letter to her.

Kowsari wanders into my office half an hour later. I’m not surprised to see that she’s ditched her headscarf and confidant’s cap since leaving Dutt’s office. She shuts the door and declares, “I’d say we have indeed wrapped things up nicely. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Depends on how you look at it.” I sign the letter and slide it under a stack of files.

“What, because Dutt understands what really happened? She’s not going to use this as an excuse to wrestle the Register away from you, Yavari, nor is she going to take some petty retribution on Jannat. She understands breaking the rules for Archon and Empire.”

“I assumed. Otherwise, you’d have been dishonorably discharged by now.” I hesitate for a moment. “Dutt made a good point, up there in the office. Why didn’t you use the ring in the house?”

Kowsari leans against the door. I get the distinct impression that she’s barring my escape. “You didn’t really think this could end any way except the ifrit’s death, did you? Not if you wanted Jannat to walk away unscathed.”

My stomach twists. “You wanted it to run?”

“Internal Morality takes a dim view to killing suspects who come quietly.”

A storm swirls through me. Kambūjiya would condone this. After all, the ifrit’s death had been all but guaranteed, whether at our hands or the Parīstānis’. It refused the chance of mercy I’d offered. Kowsari didn’t force it to run, and she certainly didn’t force it to attempt a child abduction in the process.

All these things are true, and they should settle my conscience, but there’s one thing they can’t fully blow away.

“You wanted me to kill it,” I say slowly. “You made it clear that I had to ‘tie up loose ends.’”

Kowsari pauses. “Poor wording on my part.”

“No, you meant what you said.”

“I meant I should have been more subtle in my phrasing. I need to stop lowering my guard around you. It’s only a matter of time before you catch me out over something embarrassing.” She ruefully shakes her head.

“Why? Why was it so important that I deliver the killing blow?” I demand.

She smiles. “Consider it an audition.”

“An audition?”

“Yes. You planned out this entire ruse, insisted we do things the hard way, because you prioritized someone whose life means more to you than following procedure.” Kowsari shrugs. “Stiff as you are, I didn’t believe you’d commit to that. You had to realize that, if the ifrit was brought before a tribunal, there was a risk that Jannat’s true role in all this would be leaked. I needed to know if you had what it took to guarantee her survival. That you’d do whatever it took if there was someone you needed to protect.”

“Of course I would. It’s what Kambūjiya would want,” I say.

“And now I believe you. I think your god would be fine with this, Yavari. You did what you thought was right. As for me, I would have killed the ifrit even if you hadn’t. You can wipe that look off my face.”

That storm howls inside me, eroding away the rest of my outrage. I’m left only with the frustration at being manipulated. Kowsari’s not the only one who needs to mind herself. If I’m not careful, she might trick me into doing something far less justified.

“Was this about Fayyaz’s daughter?” I ask.

Kowsari’s grin widens. “Let’s just say that I might have something in mind for you down the line.” She produced a folded document from her pocket. “But enough about that case. It’s done now. I have something for you.”

Suspiciously, I unfold it to discover a requisition form. Kowsari’s filled in her name, today’s date, and a new request for Kir Nikbin’s blood. Otherwise, the form is blank.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask.

Kowsari saunters off to my safe and spins the dial. “You did say you’d fill it out for me, didn’t you?” The door unlocks with a clunk, and she hauls it open.

“You filled out all those forms the other day just fine.”

“That was then. Now, I have somewhere I need to be.” Kowsari plucks Nikbin’s blood from the shelf. “Look on the bright side. At least that’s the only paperwork I’m foisting off onto you.”

I sigh. “Thank the Shepherd for small mercies.”

Kowsari pockets the blood. “Khodâ negahdâr, Yavari.”

With that, she opens the door and flounces from my office.

“Khodâ negahdâr, Kowsari,” I say quietly, and I get to work on finishing the form.