Road of Pages

They left the harem through a different gate, one that led straight into a narrow arcade surrounded by two quiet pools. Khaya strode in the direction of the voices as if she knew the halls by heart, all the while keeping her ears open for snippets of conversation amongst the meaningless whispers.

"-a more pressing issue at hand," Yahya said, "she saw-"

His companion's voice rose as if in surprise or awe, but Khaya could not catch the words.

"This isn't working," she mumbled, and surged forward through the passageways. Meia quickened her step in turn, and eventually they reached a wing of the palace that even she was unfamiliar with. Khaya stopped just outside an archway and leaned against the wall to catch her breath.

Now when she focused, the voices came to her clearly.

"Keep your voice down," Yahya said. Khaya covered her smiling mouth with the back of her hand. If only he knew how futile that was.

"Where is she now?" the other man whispered, yet Khaya heard.

Are they talking about Rayta? Or me?

"Ayaan took her to the harem."

Her blood ran cold, jaw tight. Ayaan was the boy she had met earlier.

The man replied, but Khaya missed it. She closed her eyes and tried to hone in on Yahya's voice again, but she could not find it.

Beside her, Meia's eyes were wide with worry. Khaya didn't acknowledge how strange she must have looked, scrunching her eyes and running through the halls.

"I am fine," she smiled, "Do you know where this leads to?" She pointed through the archway into a short passage that curved at the end.

Meia surveyed her surroundings and shook her head.

Khaya entered the archway. When they turned at the corner the sound of pages scraping together amplified a thousand times over knocked the breath from Khaya's lungs, and all at once she knew they were in trouble.

Ж

The shelves were endless and towering, their majesty demanding to be seen.

Meia tugged at Khaya's sleeve, worry on her face. They were not supposed to be here.

Khaya's pulse throbbed in her wrist, but she was still in control. She took Meia's wrist and pulled her into a nook between two bookcases to hide. Her senses probed for Yahya's voice but there was only silence, not even the sound of turning pages and shuffling sheets from just moments earlier. She was either too late, or her strange ability had a mind of its own.

A string of curses fell from her mouth. "Stay here," she instructed Meia, whose caramel face had gone a shade paler. Khaya peered around the shelf and quickly glided from one to the next, going deeper and deeper into the maze of bookcases, all the while listening. Suddenly she had reached the centre, where the shelves disappeared to make way for an area filled with writing desks arranged in neat columns. Her heartbeat rose to her throat, and she slammed herself behind the last shelf. A few books fell out of place, tense seconds passed, but silence fell once again, but for the gentle scritching of pen on paper. Khaya's chin tilted up and her eyes widened. There were three floors above that had balconies looking over into the writing area. It was a whole world, carefully hidden away.

A movement by one of the balconies caught her attention, and she craned her neck to see the swish of a white kaftan just in time. There he stood, regal and poised with his companion, talking in hushed tones. Khaya kept her focus on them and tried to reach for their voices, she imagined fingers extending from her ears, grabbing at each word.

"Do not preoccupy yourself with this business too much, Yahya," the stranger said. He used no honorific, to Khaya's surprise.

An uncle, a brother?

But even from so far away they looked nothing alike.

"Unfortunately all of Rehan's business is my business," Yahya said, and turned to lean over the rail. Khaya pushed herself to the wall and crouched even lower to remain hidden.

"Let me look into it. Ayaan will be happy to have some new distraction. The only thing you should be worrying about now is the Prince's birthday."

Yahya clicked his tongue. "His mother has that under control. She doesn't like it when I meddle."

The man laughed. "True as that may be -"

"Are you alright down there?"

Khaya froze, panic slowly rising in her stomach. The library was forbidden to women, barring the Calipha and the Princess. There was no way out of this. She rose slowly and turned her chin up to look the man in the face. He was a head taller than her, with a thick but neatly groomed beard and a noticeably broad nose. His simple dark brown qamis was decorated with light blue borders, and the books he carried were all leather bound. Old volumes, well preserved. There was a round metallic pendant hanging from his neck with a seal Khaya could not identify.

Surprisingly he did not seem angry, merely curious.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a deep, rumbling voice.

"I came in search of..." her mind raced through what she had been told by Kalan. The teachers. "In search of books on Fiqh." The theory of Islamic law, the most esteemed subject of study.

The man's interest seemed to be piqued. "And what do you desire to learn about Fiqh?"

"Whatever I can."

He chuckled. "What is your name?"

"Al-Khayzuran."

"I am Parviz," he said, and turned around. "Follow me."

He led them through the writing area, and no one so much as batted an eyelid at Khaya's presence, if at all they noticed it. After a few twists and turns they reached the stairs leading to the upper levels. They climbed to the second floor, and at the far end there was a set of wide oak doors flanked by two guards. At Parviz's approach they stiffened to attention, their eyes briefly scanned Khaya but they did not protest when Parviz asked them to open the doors.

"This is a special section closed to all but the Qadis. Not even the Caliph can come here unaccompanied by one of us."

A Qadi? Khaya almost laughed out loud, old memories of her pet goat returning to her all at once.

"What is a Qadi?" she asked as the doors closed behind them. Perhaps a foolish question, but she saw no point in hiding her ignorance.

"A judge of the court. We study Fiqh and enforce it where we must." He paused to place the books he was carrying on a nearby shelf. "Here you will find the most reputable discourses on Fiqh in the whole kingdom."

Khaya took a moment to breathe in the presence of all the knowledge dormant in the manuscripts around her. The word of God itself.

Parviz dragged a finger over spines, in search of something particular. "I am surprised you came here yourself. Most women from the royal harem send messengers."

Khaya came back to herself. "I never said I was from the royal harem... how did you know?"

"The red bangle," he looked down at her wrist, "It also has a gold seal on the rim, so you are not just a woman of the royal harem, but one of the Caliph's."

Khaya glanced at the bangle Ayaan had given her, noticing the seal Parviz spoke of for the first time. It was so small, his eyes must have been extremely keen to spot it. "I'm one of the Prince's," she mumbled, though she felt no pride or consolation in it.

Parviz reached the end of the shelf, his search fruitless. "It is not here," he sighed, "I guess a trip is in order."

"Where are you going?"

"The Road of Pages. You may join me if you wish."

A trip outside the palace. It was just what she needed after being constantly pushed around and commanded by people she did not know nor trust. She sucked in a deep breath and nodded.

"I would like that very much, Parviz Qadi."

Ж

The Road of Pages was not a road but an entire district in the inner city dedicated to literature and the written word. Parviz travelled without guards in a simple open carriage. The pendant he wore was enough protection, denoting his status as a Qadi of the royal court for all to see. Khaya's veil fluttered in the light breeze as they stepped off the carriage into the vast organized chaos around them. There was clamour and noise but it was... orderly in a sense. The people walked with collective purpose, each one knowing exactly where they wanted to go.

Khaya followed Parviz down the second street from where they had arrived. It was truly a dome of intellect. All around her were books not only of theology, but of science, mathematics, foreign languages, even cookery and art. She trailed after Parviz, all the while gulping in the books, the maps, the manuscripts, the carved tablets and inked wooden boards. This was a treasury greater than any coffer or mine. She would have this over the grandeur of the palace in a heartbeat. Parviz seemed to notice her dazed state of awe, and paused his strides for a moment.

"You can truly find anything here. Around the corner they have a section entirely dedicated to poetry and stories for amusement. One street down is only for writing utensils, another lane only for paper, book binding, and ink."

Ink.

All she could think of was her mother, the only ink maker in Jorash, and here was a whole street full of them, catering to a city so vast she had as yet only seen a minute fraction of it. She could recall the streets of Jorash as if she had only left yesterday, each nook and hidden alley, each curving dusty road, each withered tree, each dried up well. Here she could not take a single step without a guide, make no journey unguarded or unattended.

She was as good as a prisoner.

Parviz tapped her gently on the shoulder, bringing her away from her troubling thoughts. "Stay close."

He stopped at a bookshop where rows of pristine new volumes had been laid out. They were not books on Fiqh, but on law and governance. His eyes scanned each copy, the titles written in bright red and yellow ink to stand out against their dull covers, and finally picked one up. Khaya could read the words but had no clue to their meaning.

"Concerning the Lawful Execution of Wills," Parviz clarified when he saw Khaya's puzzled expression, "It is to do with distributing what a man leaves behind to his successors upon his passing."

Khaya nodded, but did not enquire further.

"Would you like to see anything more?" he asked once he had made his purchase.

"Can we see the ink?"

Parviz seemed surprised, but he did not refuse. Even before they reached the road of ink and parchment the sharp scent of acids and resins filled their nostrils, unfamiliar scents Khaya would never had associated with ink making. The street had ink makers on one side and book binders on the other. Everything she saw was new. The men and women worked mechanically, transferring the acid, gum arabic, and pure carbon black – finer than the soot her mother used – into huge vats, then pressing the mixture into specially carved tablets for storage, even labelling and sorting them with precision. Even children were put to work, their small and deft hands extracting the most stubborn remnants of gum arabic from the harvested tree branches. The paper that was being bound into thick books on the opposite side was smooth and light and abundant – nothing like the cheap parchment Khaya was so accustomed to.

She closed her eyes and tried to summon her power, and slowly the sounds began increasing in intensity. The rhythmic pouring, tapping, the scrape of tools on bark, footsteps and stone being set against wood. It was nothing like home, with only two pairs of hands at work in the small silent workshop.

The sounds gradually faded to their normal volume, and Khaya stood motionless for a long moment, wishing that her power had been as obedient when she was in the library eavesdropping on Yahya.

"Something troubles you," Parviz said.

Khaya was once again surprised by his perceptiveness. They commenced their walking, taking in hubbub. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but the one that came out of her mouth was unexpected, "What do you know of Yahya al-Barmaki?"

An expression of mild surprise crossed his face, but he answered, "Of him I know little, but of his family I know much... At their head is a council led by Khalid al-Barmaki, Vizier to Caliph Al-Mansur. His son Yahya is fifth in command. I know that Yahya is a personal advisor and companion to the Prince, and that he enjoys collecting flowers for his wife, but little else I'm afraid. He does not tend to make a show of himself, unlike the rest of his family."

His wife? Khaya's eyes narrowed. She tried to conjure an image of Yahya presenting a bouquet to a woman, or caressing her face and reciting poetry for her, as she imagined husbands did for their wives. She could not.

"Are the Barmaki family prominent at court?" she asked, reigning in her scattered thoughts.

Parviz stopped and let out a hearty laugh. "Prominent? They are the most powerful family in the kingdom, my dear girl."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Even more than the royal family?"

Parviz smiled. "It depends on one's perspective, as many things do. Though the royal family has the power to reverse official court rulings and declare war, in the day-to-day running of the empire the Barmaki's influence outdoes all others. They have their hands in everything, from the smallest mosques to the richest camel breeders, not to mention the government offices, including the Qadis of the royal court."

"How could they be allowed so much power?"

Parviz shrugged. "They have always maintained a close friendship with the royal family, and they inspire loyalty in the people by their fair practices..." he cleared his throat and raised a sinister eyebrow, "However, many say there is another reason."

Khaya hung on to his every word, eager to hear more.

"They say the Barmaki have gifts no common man could conceive of. Men who do not bleed, girls who can see as far as ten leagues with their bare eyes, children who can call upon the wind to do their bidding... Some claim they are gifts from desert spirits, others are convinced it is a sign of sorcery and the dark arts."

Khaya's pulse hummed in her ears, and as if to spite her the volume of their footsteps slowly intensified. If there was any truth to those rumours, then it was possible they knew the source of her... gift. There was no other word for it. Curse? Perhaps.

"And you, Parviz Qadi? What do you think?"

He laughed, a sound filled with cunning and irony. "I think men will believe whatever helps them sleep at night. Stories of unearthly powers kindle fear in enemies and awe in allies. It is a very clever albeit strange tactic, but it has worked."

"So you do not believe those abilities are real?"

"No, child, I do not, to put it simply."

Khaya was not as disappointed as she should have been. The only way to find out the truth was to go to the source. She had to find a Barmaki...

And make them talk.

Ж

Meia looked as worried when Khaya returned to her chambers - escorted by Parviz's personal guards - as she had when they were in the library.

Her lower lip quivered as she hung her head in shame. Khaya held her hands out, unsure how to comfort her, or if that was even expected at all.

"It's alright..." she hesitated, awkwardly placing a gentle hand on the girl's head. Even with Salsal, her own sister, giving comfort was a chore. The best method was always to change the subject.

"I was with one of the Qadis so it was perfectly safe. We went to the Road of Pages."

Meia, now at ease, nodded.

They sat on the bed and sorted through Khaya's shopping; a set of blank notebooks for the classes she was to take with Parviz, a pristine set of hawk feather quills, several bottles of ink, a few treatises on Fiqh, manuscripts on governance and fair trade, and a thick leather-covered book of stories.

Meia flipped it open to a page with a detailed illustration of a beautiful tiger. They idly skimmed through the book, looking for more pictures.

"Maybe we can read the stories together," Khaya said, wishing it was Salsal beside her.

The sun had already begun its slow descent by the time Meia had placed all of Khaya's things away. She dismissed her and slipped on one of the three nightdresses draped on the chairs, baffled by the need of more than one. Her bed was too big and full of empty space, her small frame surrounded on all sides by plush pillows. A cool breeze drifted through the open archway, bringing with it the sweet scent of summer flowers.

Khaya pressed a hand over her eyes. The moment Parviz mentioned the rumours about the Barmaki's she decided her first priority would be to control her power and learn its origins. But now she realised there was even more worry about; meeting the Calipha, meeting the Prince...

She turned over, hugging a pillow against her chest, and wondered what he would be like when he greeted her as a lover.

She prayed he would not be cruel.

______