Hashir had been on many quests with women. Granted, most of those women were Esin, and they were practically siblings. But none of those quests had ever been this awkward.
Jaserah didn't speak unless necessary. He hardly ever saw her, and when he did, he didn't see her, but rather, her burqa, a three-piece outer garment with one large, thick black cloth that covered her face, neck and chest, another that covered her head, and another coat-like piece that swept the floor as she walked. Thick leather gloves covered her hands and anytime she crept up behind him unannounced, Hashir found himself flinching. Often, when they passed djinn settlements, the children would look at her with fear, whispering among themselves and running away. But Jaserah seemed unfazed.
"How much further?" She asked him one day, as he set up camp for the night. That was something new he'd been doing. Travelling alone meant he didn't stop every dusk, and when he did, he rested on trees or abandoned human houses. But with Jaserah's insistence, he finally caved in, and he had to admit, he wasn't as tired or grumpy as he used to be when he forced himself to work through his exhaustion. They were still around 500 kilometres from their first stop.
"Around 500 kilometres." Hashir replied, intently focusing his gaze on the bedroll he was unravelling. He could hear Jaserah working behind him, her actions loud and naïve, anyone and anything could know their exact location. Something spilled and he heard Jaserah gasp, grabbing his attention. She'd spilled their bone broth onto the bonfire, effectively snuffing out their heat source. Her head tilted up to look at him, eyes widened with fear.
"Don't worry I can fix it!" she assured, raising one hand defensively, with the other still holding onto the bronze dallah that held the broth. Hashir watched, dumbfounded as with just one flick of her wrist, Jaserah raised each and every droplet of the clear liquid—and returned it to the pot, making it seem like the broth had never been spilt. With her index finger pointed towards the bonfire, she reignited the flame. For a heavy moment, the only sound heard was the crackling of the campfire.
"That's sihr," Hashir pointed out. "You-you-you made the broth go back into the dallah!"
"I did," Jaserah replied calmly.
"It's wrong! It's magic, and it's—the humans— what if, ya Allah, this is wrong." Hashir raised a hand to his mouth in disbelief. He was travelling with a witch, with a woman who knew what she was doing was wrong, magic is haram, forbidden in Islam, and the last time Hashir checked, Hama was Muslim, which meant Jaserah was also Muslim, right?
Or what if...
Hashir pushed that thought aside. He replaced it with another thought instead:
What if Jaserah wasn't Muslim and her parents never noticed?
This thought was much easier to entertain, but before he could do so, Jaserah cleared her throat.
"It's not magic. It's sihr."
"And what is the difference?"
"In order to perform magic, you need to work with a mage, a human that invokes one of the stronger djinns, thus turning them into deities. The deity assigns you to one of the mages that call upon them and you work for the mage in return for acts of kufr and shirk."
"And what about sihr?" Hashir couldn't believe the casualty with which she'd mentioned the word kufr, disbelief in the One God Allah in favour of other deities.
"Sihr is different," Jaserah explained, "With sihr, you study the elements around you. You find out how they work and how to manipulate them. You don't work with a mage, and you don't expect praise in return. You do it to make life convenient for you, same way the humans have invented chariots and whatnot to make life convenient for them. That's their sihr, and this is ours. As djinns, our life cycles tend to be longer, and when you've lived on this planet for more than two hundred or even three hundred years, you learn a lot about the life forms around you. And that's what sihr is, using your knowledge of the world around you, and manipulating matter to suit your needs."
YOU ARE READING
You Can Run
FantasyBased on Islamic legend, this book follows Pierre, Abru and Jaserah on a journey of Little Falsteen as they navigate a world never before seen, dealing with conflicts and peace and discovering things about themselves they'd never known.