You Can Run

Khaizarigarabad

"So about this island," Pierre shouted as they flew over the ocean. "Where exactly is it?"

"Well, have you heard about India?"

"The Golden Bird?"

"Yeah"

"I thought it was a myth."

Pierre couldn't tell if Esin was judging him because her face had morphed into a shadow when they took off.

"So," Pierre cleared his throat. "It's in India?"

"It's near India. And it's more of a...cluster of small islets than an actual island.

"Ah,"

Pierre tried to picture the place in his mind.

"What of my sister?" he inquired. "She's going to worry when I don't come back,"

"She's been told you were asked to transport some goods to Halifax; you'll take a week to return."

Pierre nodded, although he wasn't sure Bernadette would believe the cover story.

"What are you?" he finally asked the question he'd been waiting to ask.

"I am a djinn," Esin answered. "I can't explain it well, but Hashir will explain it."

"Who's that?"

"You'll see. Look; we're almost there!" Esin nodded towards a dot in the ocean.

"I can't see it," Pierre shouted, squinting hard.

"Oh, I sometimes forget humans can't see that great," Esin muttered. "Hang on!"

They got lower and closer to the minute spot of green in the ocean until Pierre could see it. It was as Esin had put it: a cluster of tiny islands; separated by lakes and streams. A range of snow-capped mountains stood tall to Pierre's left.

"Can't stay here long; best to get you on land soon if we both want to keep our heads," Esin muttered, glancing around.

They flew over to a small village and descended in front of a hut with dried plants hanging on the barred windows, with a roof built with straw. The walls of the hut were decorated with a geometric design in a burnt sienna hue. It didn't have a gate, or a fence, just an oddly wide door with a door handle spanning the width of the door itself. He could hear a goat braying nearby.

Esin moved forward, this time as a redhead dressed in a tan leather trench coat, tunic and trousers. She knocked twice, and the door opened — from the bottom, it slid up and rested on a ledge below the roof.

A woman with olive skin and a head veil answered the door. Esin conversed with her in another language then pointed at Pierre. The woman gave him a quizzical look then walked over. She had wrinkles near her eyes and on her forehead and freckles on her nose. She began talking to him in the same foreign language.

Esin raised a hand to stop her. "He does not speak our tongue."

"Ah," the woman raised her chin. "So this is how far Bibi Arezo's children have gone. A European descendant. Who would've thought?"

"I'm Canadian," Pierre corrected. "From Nova Scotia."

The woman raised her eyebrows. "Is that not in Europe?" she asked Esin.

"It is much further than Europe," Esin informed.

"Further than Europe?" inquired the woman, "What could be further than Europe?"

"Meryem," Esin smiled, placing a hand on the lady's shoulder. "He's just arrived and we're both exhausted. Would you happen to know where Hashir would be?"

"Hashir left a while ago," informed the woman, "He went to get the second descendant."

"You mean my sister?" Pierre interrupted.

"No," Esin answered, "She means a distant relative of yours, Lady Abru of the noble House of Paigah."

Pierre didn't know what a Paigah was. Or an Abru. But Esin had said Hashir, whoever he — or she — was, would explain. So Pierre decided to keep his questions for him.

Meryem looked him up and down. "You need a bath," she declared. "We take those regularly around here. We'll have to get some food in you as well; flying must've exhausted you."

Meryem appointed a boy, no older than 12 maybe, who stared at Pierre in a mixture of confusion and awe, to direct him to the village bathhouse.

"You're a foreigner," the boy observed. He had storm grey eyes, with curly brown hair that hung over his eyes. His tan face beamed in excitement. "Are you from Europe?"

"No," Pierre answered, "I'm from Canada, it's a lot further than Europe, but it's a beautiful country too."

"Canada," The boy voiced. "Is it a lot like this village?"

"No, actually. I think Little Falsteen and Canada are worlds apart, but Little Falsteen is great, too."

"The bathhouse isn't far, we'll be there in a few minutes." The boy held out his hand. "I'm Abd Sebor,"

"I'm Pierre," Pierre shook his hand.

Abd Sebor showed Pierre all the important landmarks along their way. "That's the school for little children," he pointed to a large tree with rugs and benches under its shade. "The older students study in the mosque, since the adults didn't get time to rebuild their university, so they've set up a classroom in the mosque."

"Rebuild? What happened to the university?"

Abd Sebor grew tense, "Well, the adults don't want children talking about what happened... you're an adult, right Pierre?"

Pierre was shocked at his doubt. Did he not look like a twenty year old?"

"Yes, well, I'm twenty years old."

"I'm sure the adults will tell you then. Look, we're here," Abd Sebor pointed to a pond covered with a straw roof. "The bathhouse. But you'll have to get a towel, some clothes and soap from the store first."

Abd Sebor took Pierre to a man, who handed him the supplies with an apprehensive look. He asked Abd Sebor something in the same language and Abd Sebor replied grumpily, making the man chuckle.

"Welcome to Little Falsteen, foreigner," The man greeted him, patting him on the back.

Pierre nodded, and Abd Sebor dragged him to the pond.

After his bath, Abd Sebor led him back to Meryem's house, but this time, Meryem stood deep in conversation with a man. Abd Sebor decided it was a great idea to interrupt their conversation by jumping onto the man's back.

The man was much taller than Meryem, much taller than Pierre even. His jawline was chiselled and his eyes narrow. He had Meryem's complexion and wavy hair that reached his chin.

His eyes met Pierre's and he walked over to shake his hand.

"You must be the newcomer," he spoke in a deep voice. "Welcome to Khaisarigarabad."