Temple of Darkness

Yahya couldn't see. He couldn't breathe. He was still and falling at the same time, alive and dead. He blinked, or rather he imagined himself blinking, and suddenly saw the outlines of buildings, felt the earth beneath his body, and then it was the darkness again. It could have been seconds, or minutes, or even hours before the darkness finally swallowed itself into a dull amber light and he hit solid ground again. His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he rose, he flexed his arms, spinning around to face a pair of golden eyes.

"Remain calm, brother," the man said, darting around him and grabbing both his arms.

Yahya willed everything he had into him, screaming the same commands over and over again.

Yield.

Let go.

Surrender.

But the man's grip remained steadfast and solid as tempered steel, and soon began to burn his skin where he touched him. Yahya twisted and writhed in his grip to no avail, catching a glimpse of a shimmering ruby on an armband out of the corner of his eye. A suppressive talisman. Dread filled Yahya's bones. Without his compulsion he was well and truly powerless. His breaths grew shallow and his heartbeat quickened, much to his captor's amusement.

"Calm, brother, calm. We will not hurt you."

He directed him forward, and it was only then Yahya noticed the woman's body laying on the floor beside them. It was her. He had not been dreaming. Her beautiful hair was strewn on the damp ground, her veil and dress torn.

A slew of hot hair shot out of the man's flared nostrils, burning the back of Yahya's neck. "Eyes forward you little pervert."

"She's hurt."

"She could be dead and it would still be no business of yours." The man jerked him forward into the dark hall leading nowhere. Yahya himself did not know why he was showing concern for someone who had clearly revealed herself to be his enemy. His jaw tightened as he thought about how this man had nearly killed Sharan, how this woman had nearly taken Rehan in his place. That, at least, he had prevented.

There was a faint light at the end of the hall now, and the ground had turned into smooth, solid tiles. They emerged into a large open atrium, the ceiling was impaled with shards of glass in no particular arrangement or pattern that reflected what little light penetrated the room. The man turned his head and blew a line of flame out towards the wall where it caught on one of the torches. The lone light was enough to reveal the five arches encircling the hall.

Yahya's neck and upper back prickled uncomfortably from the heat radiating from his captor's body. He directed him towards the arch directly opposite, which was lined with torches along either side. There was still no indication of where they were, no tell tale markings on the wall or floor to go by. It was certainly no mosque. They must have been underground, unless Yahya had been in the dark realm for far longer than he thought.

"You have a powerful ability," Yahya remarked.

"High praise coming from you."

So, he knew who Yahya was, and by extension probably who his entire family was. "What is this place?"

"It's my house." A pointless answer.

"You don't seem too concerned about your friend," Yahya quipped.

He laughed, spewing hot air down Yahya's back. "Concern? If I showed any concern for her she would travel me all the way to Gaza out of spite."

Yahya drew his brows together. They must have still been close to Rey, or perhaps somewhere along the gulf for him to say Palestine was far away.

The hall was widening now, and they emerged into a long corridor lined with deep alcoves. Suddenly, the fire-breather shoved Yahya forward, and he stumbled into one of them.

The world turned quiet. Yahya swallowed and slowly blinked, his mind buried in a haze. He braced himself on his hands and looked up at the ceiling, then to the two walls of the alcove, no, prison cell, he realised in horror. The talismans were embedded in the walls, from the floor all the way up to the ceiling, hundreds of them triangulating to his position on the floor. There was no door, he could walk freely out if he were capable. His mind was shackling his body.

"Sorry about that," the man said, although Yahya now saw that despite his tall stature he was hardly a man at all but a mere boy, his face smooth and youthful. A while later, Yahya could not comprehend the length of minutes any more, a man emerged from down the hall. He wore a grey turban wrapped in the Persian style and a plain black kaftan. He turned his chin down, and suddenly Yahya was looking at a pair of pale grey eyes that mirrored his own.

I've only known one other person with such eyes, silver like the moon.

"Al-Kuma," Yahya murmured to himself, horrified by the revelation, the fact that he was face to face with one of the most powerful jinn vessels in the kingdom, if not the world.

"Ah Sameer, you've done well," he touched the boy's shoulder. "And Zehra?"

Sameer looked at Yahya. "Asleep."

Al-Kuma nodded. "You may leave us." He waved the boy off, then finally turned his attention to Yahya as if he were seeing him for the first time. He seemed completely content and at ease, jovial even, for someone who had failed to kidnap their desired target. "Welcome to the Temple of the Hashashin, Yahya. It is my honour to meet you."

"It was you who helped the Umayyads," said Yahya, "You who gave them maps and told them how and where to strike."

"Indeed."

Yahya allowed himself a smile. It all made sense now, the rebellion, the kidnapping plot. "We destroyed them all despite your power. You failed to capture the city, and you failed to take Rehan."

Al-Kuma was amused. "You think I care for Rey? The Umayyads were a mere pawn in my game, I had no interest in their foolish ambitions. As for your Prince, he and the Caliph are but placeholders, it is of no significance to me whether they live or die, although I admit the current Caliph has far more to like about him than the racist little fool Marwan ever did. A shame he will suffer for his choice of allies."

Yahya's brows knitted. "What are you talking about?"

"I am not sure what confuses you."

"The Byzantines—"

"Ah," Al-Kuma raised his chin, "When we learned you were not accompanying Prince Rehan to Rey, we planted information that he was in danger. We knew whom they would send as his protector."

Yahya's eyes clouded with confusion, still unable to grasp what he was implying. Al-Kuma bent down so they were eye to eye.

"It is you who we wanted, Yahya ibnMahnaz. It always has been."

Yahya's throat sank into his stomach. "How do you know that name?"

His laugh was a mere breath. "I chose that name, for her eyes."

Yahya stared at him, stared at his eyes. Eyes that looked just like this own. His quieted mind brewed a new storm, a new crippling fear. "No, my mother was born in Medina to a silversmith. She wasn't special, she was just a girl."

Al-Kuma reared his head up and laughed, the sound echoed down the empty hall, reverberating through each alcove. "So he never told you." He bent low again, so Yahya could feel his icy breath against his skin, see into his own eyes. "Her name was Mahnaz bint Al-Kuma, boy, and that vile man took her from me. He raped her like a slave and harvested her children like they were wheat stalks to gain power, not knowing that in my line, the women carry none. Perhaps if Khalid al-Barmaki had the patience to ask he would not have had to force my daughter to push out a second child who would end up killing her in birth."

"You are lying!" He shouted in his face, he threw himself forward as far as the talisman prison would allow, his body rejecting the very idea. "You know nothing of her or my father."

Yahya recalled every word his father had spoken of his mother, how she was kind and soft just like Yasmin, how she had a lovely singing voice. How her eyes were silver like the moon, just like Yahya's. His heart was unsteady in his chest, as if it were trying to escape from the confines of his ribs.

"You're lying," he breathed. There was no fight in it, no power, no conviction.

Al-Kuma was unperturbed. "It is he who lied, and it is you who knows nothing of yourself. You think your power is mere compulsion? All of you Barmakis think in such small frames, such puny scales. You could cripple entire armies, conquer the world with a swipe of your hand. You could destroy me just by looking at me."

He stepped back, his sermon complete, and stared down at Yahya's hunched form. The infallible, the inimitable.

Broken.

X

Yahya had sat himself against the wall of his open prison, drawing one knee up and propping his arm on it as he sat in deep contemplation. He had not moved for hours, churning through everything that had happened the moment he entered Rey, to the moment he arrived here. The disappearing and appearing of the rebels must have been the travelling woman's work. The burning bridge the work of the fire-breather. Perhaps the rebel he and Rehan had been chasing that day was none other than her.

He did not even want to acknowledge Al-Kuma's other claims, that his mother was Al-Kuma's daughter, that she was kidnapped and defiled by his father like cattle. The images invaded his consciousness against his will, and for all his power over the human mind, he was a slave to them now.

At some point, she came.

The woman from the souk, Zehra, now dressed in a plain, shapeless abaya, carrying a plate of food. She bent and placed it down, and Yahya shot forward the moment her hand crossed the threshold. If he did not have his jinn, he at least had his strength over her. He seized her wrist and pulled her forward, sending the plate clattering to the side. They writhed and struggled against each other until he had her straddled beneath him, hands pinned to either side of her head.

Her mouth opened in mock surprise, and suddenly his hands were grasping empty air.

"Like father, like son," came her voice from outside the threshold. She stood with her arms crossed, her hair immaculate and green eyes flaring.

"How..." Yahya looked at the gem-studded walls. "How could you do that while in here?" He stood and walked forward, reaching a hand out to the invisible barrier. As he expected, it was like pushing against a solid rock face.

"Ours are much more advanced than yours." Her mouth pursed, considering. "The ones on the walls are tuned to Al-Kuma, they will only bind his blood."

His blood. A wave of nausea washed over him. "Why are you keeping me here?"

Her body was stiff with a calculated disdain, a condescension. Yahya knew this look well. He was often the one wearing it. Unexpectedly, she stepped towards him and placed a hand on his chest, peering up through her lashes into his eyes.

The air was cold. He blinked and looked around, and suddenly they were on a balcony made entirely of dark stone looking over a wide hall filled with people. Not just people, he realized. Soldiers.

Byzantine soldiers.

"What you did for the serpent girl, you'll do for them," she said.

He realized only then his mind was no longer shackled, and grabbed her arm. "Lead me out of here."

Her lips parted and she walked towards him slowly, as if in a trance. He blinked, and suddenly his mind collapsed on itself again, and he clutched his head in pain. They had returned to the prison chamber.

"You will have to try harder than that." Her words were pure ice as she pulled down the collar of her abaya and tapped the exposed emerald jewel on her choker. And then she was gone.

Yahya slumped to his hands and knees, breathing hard.

What you did for the serpent girl, you'll do for them.

Hundreds of them.

It all pieced together at once.

Conquer the world with a swipe of your hand.

His hand, that would build a jinn army to conquer the world.

____________________________

THE SERPENT'S VEIL will continue in...

THE VENOM OF KINGS.

Thank you for reading!

A/N:

This is it! This is the last chapter in this book! Thank you all for reading this far and supporting my work, I appreciate each and every one of you! I'd like to especially thank readers who have provided valuable input on representation and writing Muslim characters. I will continue to improve the book in the editing stage, especially those elements pertaining to representation, culture, and history.

If you are interested in reading and reviewing the edited manuscript, please wait for the sign up sheet to be released on Instagram ( @corporal_bookish ). Alpha and beta readers will be required to provide detailed feedback and will receive individual google docs to provide comments on.

Once again thank you for joining me on this journey. I will be posting the blurb of TVOK as a new chapter. Stay tuned!