Here Be Jinn by Dennis Tsarson

Author:Dennis Tsarson [Tsarson, Dennis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-22T11:57:26+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

The thin walls of the small, elegant glass could not prevent the heat of the tea from burning Sayid’s fingers. He carefully picked up the small silver plate that it stood on. His gaze, distant and emotionless, was fixed at the calm surface of the tea and the barely visible steam emanating from it. At the other side of the small coffee table, Mullah Nishwari sat atop a cushion identical to the one Sayid was sitting on, as he described the group’s plans for the near future.

Baghdad was not the end of the road. Nishwari went on to describe the administrative divisions—the wilayahs—that would be formed in the southern part of Iraq after their victory. He also raised the possibility of expanding beyond the borders of Iraq, mentioning that several groups in Syria and Yemen had declared their allegiance to Liwa al-Qadisiyyah while Sayid was still imprisoned.

Sayid listened, but though the mullah was sitting opposite him, his words sounded as distant as a radio programme playing in a different room. They were just a noise in the background of his own thoughts, thoughts of mystical arts and jinn, the miraculous and the Islamic way of life.

“Is something wrong, Sayid?” Nishwari asked.

Sayid looked up. “In what sense?”

“You haven’t sipped your tea once.”

And indeed, he was still holding on to the plate. Tea was Sayid’s favourite beverage. He would choose it over coffee any day of the week, any season of the year. Nishwari knew this.

“Ah, yes.” Sayid drank a bit, letting the beverage tickle his lips.

“You don’t look like your usual self today,” the mullah said. “It seems you are drained and exhausted from something. Perhaps you’re coming down with a fever?” His voice was laced with genuine concern.

“No, no, I’m not ill. It’s just that my mind keeps wandering off elsewhere.”

“Are you thinking about the upcoming offensive?”

“Naturally.”

It was no lie; he was thinking about the battles that were due to begin in a few days’ time. He had taken part in a number of offensives, he was experienced and used to them, yet a strange sense of anxiety was always present. But it was not the full truth.

“But there’s something bigger than that, right?” Nishwari said, calmly but assertively, as if he was able to read his mind.

For a moment, Sayid hesitated, thinking over what to say.

“Is it related to the Jinn Arts?” Nishwari asked before Sayid got a chance to speak.

“Y-e-s.” Sayid stretched out his answer, feeling uncomfortable.

It was bizarre. He had issues with this whole thing—major issues, for that matter. At the same time, he did not want to hurt Nishwari’s feelings. Sayid had noticed how emotionally invested the mullah was in this idea. Rebuking him for it felt as bad as upsetting an elderly relative.

“What are your concerns?” Nishwari asked gently.

“I don’t think you’ll like what I’ll say.”

“I am the emir of the Liwa,” Nishwari said. “And a good leader ought to listen to the concerns of those under his command. It does not matter if the words he hears make him smile or frown; they ought to be heard.

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