Stalking Shadows

The aqueduct bridge erupted into flames before Yahya's eyes. Shouts and cries brimming with panic rose from the streets below, but he ignored them as he jumped from a perch on the side of the mosque onto the roof.

Rehan was at the previous checkpoint, just as Khaya said he would be. It was too dangerous for her to accompany Yahya, so she'd disappeared into the crowds entering the Blue Mosque when the call to prayer chimed. She'd heard Rehan speaking to a Reyan guard, and a clash of blades against an unknown foe — presumably one of the insurgents he'd been sent to silence. When they knew he was safe, Yahya had scaled the side of the mosque and taken up watch.

Now, he let out a string of curses as Rehan leapt from the aqueduct bridge onto the narrow stone wall and raced after the retreating rebel, now a blur of whiteness as he dashed along the aqueduct wall like a stream of water.

Yahya's body knew what to do before he did; he took a running jump off the roof of the mosque onto a lower level and kept his stride as he ran alongside the white-clad man, bounding over the gaps between buildings with the grace of a leopard.

Close behind, Rehan gained on them, a dark red streak against the grey sky. Yahya did not know if the Prince had noticed him, but there would be time to explain himself after they captured the rebel, who was approaching the first fork in the aqueduct where the masonry split into three channels.

Foolishly, he chose the left-most route, cutting straight into Yahya's path. The Barmaki allowed himself a smile as he picked up speed, feet barely brushing against the hard and flat roofs. The white-clad slowed down to make the sharp turn where the conduit changed direction, and Yahya hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Rehan was keeping pace with them, but as he approached the fork his gaze shifted past the corner and to the white-clad himself.

With a sharp cry, the Prince threw himself from the edge of the main aqueduct wall, aiming directly for the left channel.

Suddenly Yahya could only hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.

He was just a single jump away from the rebel, but he spun away and barrelled towards the edge of the roof. Rehan was not going to reach the aqueduct wall.

He was going to fall. Fall and d—

No. No. No!

Yahya's skin was flame hot with panic, his vision blurred, he reached his hand out, out, out—

Their hands closed around each other's forearms as Rehan slammed into the side of the stone building. Every sinew in Yahya's body was shaking as he heaved the Prince onto the roof, still filled with adrenaline fuelled panic even though his friend was safe.

"Rehan, are you okay?" Yahya said, almost breathless.

The sight of Rehan caked in drying blood and dripping with sweat filled Yahya with dread, but Rehan got to his feet in an instant and rolled his shoulders back with the nonchalance of being out for a stroll. If he was surprised to see Yahya, he hid it well.

"He's heading for the square. You go along the aqueduct, I'll cut him off," he said, his searching eyes locking onto the minaret at the centre of the city, piercing the clouds like a sword.

Yahya shook his head, still slightly dazed from the image of Rehan flying through the air, and the possibility of him not catching his hand. When his vision cleared to see Rehan's strong form cutting against the backdrop of Rey, it was as if every colour around him had brightened, the sky more blue, dull stone gleaming, dusty bricks shining rich red.

He was forgetting that the Prince could handle himself, and there was still a mission to complete. A blink, and they had separated again; Rehan to the square, Yahya keeping in line with the aqueduct.

The rebel had pulled away from them, but Yahya soon began to close the distance. All at once the minaret loomed before them, and the white-clad jumped from the aqueduct to a jutting balcony with the ease of a bird taking flight. In moments he'd abandoned the rooftops for ledges and mezzanines, dipping in and out of Yahya's vision until he hit the dirt-packed street with a thud.

Yahya nipped at his heels, and Rehan was fast approaching, the two of them rivers and the rebel their confluence. Ahead, the street opened into the bright and bustling square, and for a heartbeat the rebel turned to lock eyes with Yahya, and then he turned into the square out of sight.

Yahya burst into the light — and nearly crashed into the Prince. Bewildered, they whirled around, eyes searching for the familiar white robes that had been before them seconds ago.

"Impossible," murmured Yahya. "He was right..."

Rehan fell to his knees.

They had lost him.

They had lost.

XXX

Six of the fifteen aqueduct bridges had been set alight, the flames visible for miles until the bridges burned to dust and their ashes clouded the water in the conduits. In their place hung banners of pure white — the symbol of the Umayyads.

A message to the people of Rey.

In the clamour of voices and movement, Khayzuran caught frightened gasps and half sentences uttered in frantic tones.

"—white flag."

"Return of the..."

"—at war?!"

She stalked through the western quarter, acutely aware of the wagons carrying injured men that had been caught in the destruction. Their aching groans and whimpers filled the air in an endless drone that Khaya found difficult to ignore as she made her way towards the barracks.

Yahya had disappeared from his perch atop the mosque, so she had no choice but to go to their rendezvous point and hope for the best. It seemed the injured guards had decided the same, as the wagons seemed to follow her with every turn and twist she took through the streets.

The barracks were nestled beside the governor's mansion under the cover of date palms and thickets of foxtail grass. Khaya drew up beside one of the wagons under the pretence of helping her fellow men, keeping her head down as they passed through the open gate. Even if they stopped her, she had a sealed permit from the Vizier. There was nothing to fear.

Still, her heart sped up when they crossed the threshold into the flurry of armed men. Guards carrying heavy swords and axes jogged around in pairs to their posts, whilst smaller, older men bustled in and out of the squat buildings — presumably the physicians.

The wagon headed to a makeshift infirmary, and just outside she caught Yahya standing beside a dishevelled man drenched in blackened blood.

It took her a long moment to realise it was Rehan she was looking at.

Her mouth opened to call to them, but she stuttered — catching herself at the last second. He could not know she was here. Steeling herself against the urge to run to him, she breathed into her stomach and waited for them to enter the infirmary first, then slowly followed and stood stoic by the doorway, as if she were guarding it.

The heavy breaths and moans as burns were treated with poultices made the grim image of the infirmary all the more easy to conjure. But it all fell to silence when Khaya honed in on the voices at the centre of the room.

"How many dead?" asked Rehan, presumably to one of the physicians.

"Twelve, Sayyidi," an older man said, his voice laced with sadness. "Seventeen are injured, but more come in as we speak."

Khaya felt Rehan's reaction from the way his breath hitched and his pulse jumped, but his tone was level when he replied. "Thank you, sahib, let me not keep you."

Silence, then a sigh.

"What is it?" asked Yahya.

"There was a boy with me on the aqueduct... But I don't see him here."

"I can send someone to find him."

Khaya suspected that the 'someone' was going to be her.

"No, we need to find Sharan first. I have not seen him since we returned from the square."

"He must be at the governor's residence. He wouldn't be stupid enough to get captured," said Yahya.

They turned to leave, and Khaya quickly sidled along the side wall out of sight as they emerged. Yahya turned his chin slightly, and Khaya could see his grey eyes scan the clearing. There was no sign from him that she'd been spotted, but still she held her breath, and only followed when they turned a corner.

Rehan suddenly emitted a soft laugh, the first sign of normalcy Khaya had witnessed since coming here. "I can't tell you what a blessing it is to have you here, Yahya. I don't know what I would do if I were alone."

This time it was Yahya's turn to laugh. "Since when were you so sentimental."

Rehan and Khaya both grinned, and for a moment she felt guilty intruding on this intimate moment between them; smiling, carefree, two friends sharing a joke.

She stopped listening.

XXX

As Yahya suspected, Sharan was already in Firaz's mansion, sitting regal as a peacock on a plush chair in the hall of private audience and sipping spiced tea as if the world outside was not steeped in turmoil. Rehan stood by the table, clenching the back of a chair with a white knuckled grip. He had changed out of his bloodstained clothes into a plain black tunic and pants, tied his curls back in a tight knot.

Firaz wrung his hands and flattened his already combed hair against his head, so nervous he hardly expressed surprise at Yahya's sudden presence. The silence between the four men grew suffocating until Rehan expelled a long sigh, as if filling the room with air again.

"I want those banners removed."

Firaz bowed his head, part in shame, part in obedience. "I have already ordered it Sayyidi, but the guard is stretched thin, what with several men injured or dead. We must also stop the water coming into the aqueduct until it is cleaned of debris."

"Then petition the ministers to deploy their personal guards," quipped Sharan. "An edict bearing the Prince's seal should be enough to move them to action immediately."

The governor looked to the Prince for acknowledgement, but Rehan gave little more than a nod before procuring his seal from a hidden pocket in his tunic and sliding across the table to Firaz. His thick, clumsy fingers held fast to the small piece of carved wood and he quickly scampered out of the room to draw up the edicts.

"And what are you doing here?" asked Sharan, turning to Yahya.

"Helping."

Sharan's eyes narrowed. "On whose order?"

"No one's."

But he did not seem convinced. "You aren't some nameless footman, they would have sent word that—"

"I know you think me my father's puppet, Sharan, but I came here on my own," said Yahya, his voice hollow and impatient.

"Stop bickering like children," Rehan snapped. "Right now we should be thanking God that Yahya is here, else I would've fallen to my death from the aqueduct."

Despite the strength in his voice, Yahya sensed a miasma of unease tainting Rehan's aura. It was there in the clench of his jaw, the bloodless colour of his hands clutching the frame of the chair, his unfocused eyes consumed by some disquieting vision.

Rehan opened his mouth, then closed it, then said, "I could have captured one of them, but I was so consumed with rage I killed him instead. Yahya and I chased another, but we lost him near the square. It was like he disappeared into thin air."

Yahya glided across the room to where Rehan stood and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. The Prince's emotions flooded him like a sandstorm, blinding every sense until it felt like Yahya's own body was melting away. The sensation lasted for a sliver of a moment, then Rehan's shoulders relaxed, his fists unclenched, and he looked at Sharan, renewed. He shook his head as if dispelling the memory. "I was a fool to double the guard on the aqueduct and leave the rest of the city unmanned."

"Rehan, we need to focus on now. What's done is done," said Sharan. He peered at the map still open on the table from their earlier meeting. "We need to find out where they could be hiding, and consider striking them first."

"It's hard to say. They appear and disappear in every district as if they were lurking there all along," said Rehan.

Yahya observed the map. Unlike Baghdad, which was built concentrically with the palace at the centre, Rey was skewed, with the ruling class crowded in the west. Rehan seemed to read his mind, as his finger fell on the eastern quarter.

"There are fewer guard posts here. It would be easier to move unnoticed."

Sharan hummed in agreement. "The eastern quarter is rundown and filled with the dregs of Rey. Those folk would not be above helping rebels if threatened or bribed. I can reach out to some of my people there to find out more."

Rehan nodded, some semblance of a plan forming in his mind. "Yes, good. I also want to take another look around the square where that rebel disappeared," he glanced at Yahya. "He had to have gone somewhere."

"You both go now, I will manage here," said Sharan.

With a new air of confidence Rehan stood straight and inclined his chin at the older Barmaki before making his way to the door, Yahya following closely in his wake.

"Tell Firaz to replace the white banners with black ones, and to raise black flags on every guard post," he added.

Sharan smiled. "It will be done, Sayyidi."

The doors shut behind the pair, and Yahya fell into step beside Rehan as they made their way through the governor's mansion. "Is it wise to erect the flags so soon? The whole city will know you are here."

"I'm certain that man who escaped us recognised me, so it will only be a matter of time. Better to make it seem like our plan all along than wait for them to use it against us. Besides, the idea of them daring to drape their flags in one of my cities disgusts me."

Yahya raised an eyebrow, "Looks like you actually learned something sitting in all those boring council meetings."

One side of Rehan's mouth pulled into a half smile. "Don't be too impressed yet, brother. There is still a ways to go."

XXX