THE IFREET FATHER, Teresa Noelle Roberts 3/10
Fortunately, Fatima had traveled widely in her youth, seeking rare books for the library. “ ‘Edge of the world’ might mean what you think, but in this case it means another. The djinn world and the human one are woven together, as one might weave together silk and linen. What we mean by edges of the world are the places where the land of the djinn is easiest to find. They lie in the far deserts of Arabia, and you can spot them by their green glow. It is still a long journey, but not as terrible as you feared.”
Poring over maps, they determined that she should set out as if she were traveling to Mecca and veer off from there. Since it was the time of year that many people set out from Cordoba for the hajj, she would be in safe company for much of her journey.
The day Labbannah set out, Fatima came to her house and said, “I have brought you gifts. This ring will allow you to see djinn, even when they try to hide themselves. I found it in the Atlas Mountains, where evil djinn will try to hurl to your death.” The ring was large and gaudy and set with glass, the sort of thing a Berber woman might wear to remind her of home, but when Labbannah slipped it on, it transformed itself into a dainty band of worked gold suitable to a wealthy city-dweller.
“Also, take this necklace,” Fatima said, handing her a large silver amulet shaped like a bottle and ornamented with carnelian. “It is sovereign protection against ifreet and other evil djinn. If you are ever threatened, open the bottle and inshallah it will save you.” And she taught the girl the prayer that activated the bottle-amulet, and embraced her, and sent her on her way.
Traveling with a group of merchants and pilgrims, Labbannah went overland from Cordoba to a port city, meeting with no misadventures save those common to all travelers, such as poor weather and worse food.
Always in the fire at night, though, or out of the corner of her eye when they passed through wild country or the ruins left by the Roman pagans, she glimpsed djinn. Sometimes she saw her father amongst them, but he never approached.
As long as they remained in Spain, Labbannah’s serious demeanor, veiled face, and white mourning garments kept most men at a distance. Her traveling companions were cultured men of al-Andalus, where it was not unheard-of for a respectable lady, a scholar or physician, for instance, to travel without a guardian. A few, seeing lovely eyes and guessing at a lissome young form, attempted to seduce her. These she disarmed by telling her story. She could never decide whether they respected her courage or feared to take advantage of one so afflicted by insanity.
And if they questioned her sanity, it was no more than she did, sometimes, watching the djinn gather around them, unable to get too close because of the amulet, yet drawn by her tie to one of their number.
Once they took ship, however, things changed. Many of the sailors, and some of the passengers, were foreign men, unused to independent Andalusian women. Labbannah felt their eyes upon her, overheard their words that stank like something from the gutter. It did not seem to stop them that she spent much of her time studying holy books or in the dull but respectable company of two old ladies who were making the hajj with their equally dull old husband.
On the third day at sea, two of the sailors grabbed her and forced her into the cargo hold.
It was dark, close, smelling of leather and perfume, luxury goods worth the space to transport on a passenger ship. She opened her mouth to scream, but a knife pressed against her ribs, picking against her through her wool outer tunic and linen qamisa. The one who wasn’t holding the knife ripped her veil away and said something so coarse that at first she could not comprehend it.
She had a knife, but she couldn’t get to it; both her wrists were held in a grip like iron. Not that it would do her much good unless she chose to kill herself and rob them of their sport.
If she chose death over dishonor, it would damn her father. In any case, she far preferred the notion of surviving unharmed to either of those dreadful alternatives.
“You are mad to threaten me,” she said, speaking with dignity, as if she believed it. “My father is a djinni and I am under his people’s protection.” She could not imagine her father would rush to her aid, but perhaps the threat would give the ruffians pause.
Instead the men laughed and threw her down. One held a knife to her throat; the other raised her tunic and qamisa and fumbled with the embroidered drawstring of her sarawil.
“For your own sake, you should not do this,” she said. “Father, save me!”
The men laughed again.
And then the ship lurched.
.
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