Chapter Text
Jamil didn’t really remember the first couple of times Kalim’s life had been threatened.
As for the kidnappings, he remembered plenty of fear, the adults rushing around the palace and no one was allowed to rest until the firstborn Asim was home and safe.
Jamil couldn’t do much at that point. He ran back and forth, delivered messages, sometimes, but there wasn’t much else he could do. Kalim typically was returned home within the a day or two, and everything went back to normal.
At that age, as well, he hadn’t been allowed to eat with the Asim family, and he hadn’t really wanted to. But sometimes, he’d hear stories of a poisoning attempt or a rather shady guest getting too close to Kalim, his parents or even sometimes one of his siblings—and his curiosity was piqued. What would that look like? It was probably scary.
A couple years later in life, when Jamil served was closer to Kalim, he was much closer to the ‘action,’ so to speak. Still so young, he adapted to the changes quickly, but he wouldn’t forget the first time he’d been kidnapped.
He and Kalim had been out for a walk in the garden, and whoever had been paid to capture the firstborn Asim had decided to take advantage of the vast and heavily-shaded area. As they wandered through flower bushes and small trees twice their size, Kalim chatting away about something or other, Jamil hadn’t expected it at all when suddenly he was on the ground, the wind knocked out of him.
He gasped, only to have a gag forced in his mouth and something pulled over his head that completely obscured his vision.
He heard Kalim begin to scream his name before he went silent.
Oh no. Oh no oh nonono—
This isn’t happening! This can’t be happening!
He could barely breathe and he felt a burst of adrenaline kickstart in his veins, but it was wasted when he immediately tripped again in the darkness and fell harder to the ground.
He felt someone grab the back of his shirt, yanking him upright, and Jamil felt tears well up in his eyes at the thought of whatever would happen next.
Was he going to beat him was he going to die was he going to be sold would he be made a slave, a real slave—
He didn’t fall very far into his spiral before he felt a blow to his head and lost consciousness.
Later, his father would tell him he’d been lucky that their captor hadn’t done a great job covering his tracks.
When he’d come to he was hot, sweat soaking his clothes. He was sitting, still gagged, still blind, and he could feel someone still beside him who was around his size—it must’ve been Kalim.
His hands were tied, and so were Kalim’s, but he felt the other boy’s fingers covering his own in the dark and the fear, grounding him as the panic threatened to take him again.
He realized that he was shaking. Kalim was trying to comfort him.
He had no idea how long they had been sitting like that, but long after what was probably hours and Jamil had given up fighting tears—no one could see or hear them—and then subsequently run out of tears, there were sounds of a struggle outside of… wherever they were.
Yelling. Something hit the side of whatever they were in—it must’ve have been a car—and Jamil and Kalim flinched, Kalim reaching for Jamil’s hands again, for both their sakes this time.
The door was yanked open, and after a scramble of motion the bags were pulled from their heads and the gags from their mouths.
He and Kalim were pulled apart, several people—family, other servants—crowding around the kidnapper's body and making sure the two boys were okay as they gasped for air and light.
And Jamil cried.
For possibly the only time in his life, he just squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden, oppressive sunlight, fell to his knees on the sand and cried, for several minutes as a myriad of emotions washed over him.
He had been terrified. But now he was safe? He was going home?
Kalim, while he’d been scared, had recovered much faster than Jamil, and he actually came to comfort the dark-haired boy himself. He’d been through this before. He would go through this again. That thought was scary. And now Jamil would always be a part of that picture. He was starting to understand that being Kalim’s servant was a lot more than just babysitting…
The second time had been several months later.
It was quite similar to the first time, but this time Jamil regained consciousness much more quickly.
He and Kalim weren’t left alone this time around, and there was more than one assailant.
Jamil awoke in the dark again, but he could hear their captor’s voices, muttering in a language he only partially understood.
He wanted to be brave, to stand up against them, but he wasn’t stupid.
He could only get so far blind and with his hands tied.
This time, he would find out later, Kalim had been drugged to sleep. Once Jamil began to stir, the men noticed.
That was when he’d learned not to reveal he was awake, if he could avoid it.
He heard one of them speak, and he sounded closer—he made out the foreign words “what” and “one,” and figured they were asking about him.
Sure enough, the bag was pulled from his face a moment later, and Jamil blinked quickly, trying to make out his surroundings.
They were in a small, dark room, lit by a portable lamp, which rested in the center of the group. The man in front of him was large, muscular, but didn’t have a very intelligent gleam in his dark eyes.
He was studying Jamil, who glared back, which took about as much bravery as he could muster.
One of the other men—there were three, he counted now—made a comment in response, and Jamil recognized one word: slave.
A spark of fear worse than what he’d felt before shot through his heart as the two others laughed.
Jamil needed to get out of here. He glanced behind him, muscles tensing as he found Kalim unconscious at his side, realizing just how vulnerable he was. What was he supposed to do?!
His heart rate was irregular, and he once again felt like he couldn’t take in enough air through the gag shoved in his mouth. What if they weren’t so lucky this time? What if no one found them? Were they going to die was he going to be taken away was he going to die—
The men were still talking, but Jamil had given up trying to translate.
He wanted to fight but he was too scared—he couldn’t, even if he was brave enough he wasn’t strong enough—
He let out a whine unintentionally; no tears had come yet but they were threatening to. Jamil was seven—he hadn’t yet mastered the art of schooling his emotions.
The sound brought his captor’s attention back to him, and the same burly man from before approached him again. Jamil couldn’t help but push his back flat against the wall, chest rising and falling as he fought the fear threatening to take him over.
The man, in his own language, now, though a heavy accent remained, spoke to him.
“Quiet, brat.”
Jamil brought his hands up to cover his face—he could tell from the man’s threatening posture that a punishment would come swiftly if he didn’t obey.
He did his best to control his breathing, trying desperately to keep himself under control, but a whimper escaped anyway, and sure enough—
Slap!
Jamil’s skin burned, and his eyes instantly welled up with tears.
He was terrified. That was much worse than any slap he’d ever received at the palace. He heard the name of a drug that he knew was used to put people to sleep, and while he so desperately wanted out of this he also didn’t want to be unconscious—what if he never woke up?
He tried desperately to pull at his bindings, to bite at the gag, anything, but to no avail. The leader of the trio sighed, standing up and approaching Jamil as well.
Jamil let out a scream, curling into himself and squeezing his eyes shut—he was going to die—and the bag fell over his head again. His skin itched and felt like ice where the man’s fingers touched him, and then he felt a heavy blow to his head, for the second time that day.
The pain was so intense, he collapsed immediately.
The next time he woke, it was with his first concussion. He didn’t move this time, dull fear coursing through his veins as well as a rising sickness in his stomach.
He belatedly noticed a ringing in his ears, and he had no idea it was possible to wake up feeling so nauseous…
His head really hurt.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything, feeling like he was weighed town by a bag of bricks and every thought was slipping slowly through his head like molasses. His head hurt so much… every few moments it felt like he was being pounded again, in the same place, with a dull hammer… and for a moment he would feel terrified again, because he was still at the mercy of his kidnappers and completely and utterly helpless in every aspect of the word. But then his strength left again, so he remained there on the cold, hard floor, for what felt like days, slipping in and out of consciousness.
At some point everything got super loud, there were crashing sounds, and Jamil’s heart rate picked up, as if he was waking from a trance.
Hands quickly and rather roughly grabbed him by the shoulders, and he wanted to scream as pain exploded through his head and the same itchy, icy sensation went through his arms.
Let go of me, please—
The bag was pulled from his head, and he was immediately blinded again, this time with light. The nausea rose impossibly quickly, and the moment the gag was removed he immediately threw up.
Familiar voices surrounded him, but he was shaking and his head hurt and curses he was crying again.
He had vomited on himself and whoever was holding him upright—it was his uncle, he’d joke about it later—and he felt so awful that he just wanted to lay on the ground again.
The hands wouldn’t let him do so, however, and even though he was in serious pain he was scooped up into strong arms and pulled away from the room.
He didn’t really remember anything else from that one. His concussion went away after a day or two and he felt better, though the bruising on his face and head took much longer to heal.
Kalim woke up soon after their rescue, no longer under continuous exposure to the sedative drug, and their captors had been dealt with.
They’d been gone for over a day, this time, but not for long enough for their kidnappers to meet with their buyers.
And then everything went back to normal.
Unfortunately, this whole routine was beginning to become their normal.
The third time was not as long of an ordeal, their rescuers coming more quickly than the first two times.
The fourth time Jamil didn’t even cry.
There were a couple times that Kalim was taken on his own, and now Jamil joined in the searches for him, rather than just running messages. He’d even seen him get rescued once, though he’d had to shut his eyes when his father had stabbed one of the assailants.
When the two of them were ten years old, however, Jamil recalled this specific event much more clearly than the others, and he had good reason to believe that Kalim did too. Jamil had, around that time, begun to practice solo cooking, studying, and even started learning some basic magic, once he’d found out he was capable. He also started training with weapons and martial arts quite often, Kalim’s parents as well as his own insisting he become able to defend himself and his master as soon as possible. He was to be his bodyguard.
And Jamil was good at it. He was good at most things.
Unfortunately, a ten year old, no matter how good a fighter, is still a ten year old.
And this time was different: the kidnappers were magic users.
The boys were caught by surprise, during a rare time when they’d been left alone. A party was planned for the evening, so most of the servants were busy preparing for that, and Jamil was in charge of keeping Kalim occupied.
At first, he’d been rather happy to avoid the chores that came with preparing one of the Asim’s notoriously luxurious parties.
And then they’d been attacked, right in Kalim’s rooms.
The open window had been their entrance, and three pairs of boots hit the floor of the room. Kalim shouted for help, but no sounds could be heard outside the room, so either no one was around, or whoever had been was... Jamil shook the thought from his head forcefully. They didn’t stand a chance against three. He tried to get Kalim behind him, though he was unarmed and unsure what his next course of action would be.
Well, he’d been learning about a fire spell for a week or two now, and while the book had advised to exercise caution because it was easy to accumulate blot without something to channel magic through, Jamil was prepared to risk it. He knew he could pull it off.
Jamil, at the time, was also blissfully unaware of what blot really was, how it felt, what it could do. He wasn’t scared.
The three men, all in black, masks covering their faces, had split up and had succeeded in backing the two into a corner.
Kalim was muttering behind him, but his words were unintelligible and Jamil couldn’t let him distract him right now.
If his spell could distract these men well enough, he could take his hand and they could run, and hopefully make it to some of the staff further into the palace and be safe.
Jamil didn’t want to be taken again.
He didn’t waste another moment. He felt as the magic welled up within him, and he pictured the spell in his mind as he reached out his hand to channel it.
A burst of fire exploded from his hand, and while it wasn’t very strong, it was bright. The fire shot in front of them and expanded like a shield, before fizzling out and leaving the men untouched. It wasn’t strong enough—his plan had failed.
The man on the left reached for his arm and twisted it, and Jamil let out a sharp cry before biting his lip against the pain.
“Jamil!” Kalim shouted, but he was quickly scooped up by the man on the right, gagged and bound and fighting as much as he could against a man twice his size.
The one in the middle, who hadn’t even flinched at Jamil’s fire, cocked his head, as though he found the boy before him amusing.
“A magic-user, are we?” he grinned behind his mask.
“I’ll show you fire, boy.”
Jamil’s vision went white as the man took his wrist and burned it, and he couldn’t remember anything after that.
This time he woke up alone, no Kalim, no guards, nothing.
He was in a very, very small room, it could’ve been a closet, though it was decidedly empty.
Jamil felt… awful.
He was acutely aware of the searing pain in his hand, more accurately his wrist, but the pain traveled up and down his arm and hand like the fire had never stopped. That alone was enough to bring tears to his eyes.
On top of that, he felt… sick, in a way. Like he was drowsy, and like every awful thing he thought or felt was so much worse than it should have been. His stomach twisted, and his head hurt, and Allah his hand hurt so much—
He cradled the hand to his chest, finding rope digging into his wrists, and sat up and tried to get his bearings. He had to find Kalim. They’d never been split up before. What if he was dead? No—why would they bring him here to kill him later…? but what if he was injured, scared bleedinghurtingno—
The room was dark, but there was a line of light beneath the door that promised more outside.
Jamil barely got to his feet, head spinning for a moment, and walked to the door hunched over and with his hands bound.
He hadn’t been tied nearly as much as usual… was this some sort of trap?
I’m playing right into their hands, he thought darkly. But what other choice did he have? He covered a cough that tore roughly through his throat, leaving him feeling sicker than before. Once he’d recovered, he shouldered open the door cautiously. He stumbled into a hallway, walls made of sandstone and a window at the end of the hall shedding light across the room. The sun was setting, casting an orange hue across the whitish walls, and Jamil would’ve found it pretty if he hadn’t been in such a horrible situation.
He coughed again, and his stomach twisted.
Before he knew it he was coughing something up, and while he instinctively tried to swallow it back down, his throat rejected it and he was forced to heave onto the floor.
Surprisingly, he felt noticeably better once it was over, before his eyes caught onto the ink-black something he’d just coughed up.
His head spun for a moment as he thought about how that had come from him.
What in the world?
Jamil forced himself to squash the horror and move on, still in agonizing pain from his hand, but his stomach and head no longer felt so messy.
He had to find Kalim.
Still holding his hand close, he continued down the hallway.
Rather than a door, there was a large piece of fabric hanging before him, and he cautiously, very carefully as not to move his hand if he could avoid it, pulled it to the side so that he could peek into the room beyond.
The next room was much larger, and he could hear distant voices.
They weren’t in this room, but maybe the one after…
Why was he so far from them? He slipped past the partition, taking a deep breath as he analyzed the rest of the room.
“Jamil?” a voice gasped.
His head snapped to one of the two other hallways leading out, his gaze falling on Kalim, who was already running towards him.
He didn’t even have a chance to speak before the boy collided with him. He flinched and pulled up his hands to shield his face, which was the worst thing he could’ve done.
He couldn’t hold back a scream as his wrist felt as though it was being burned clean off, and Kalim pulled away from the hug instantly.
“Jamil! Jamil what’s wrong?”
“Ow! Kalim…” his voice came out as a whine, fresh tears springing to his eyes in response to the torture he was enduring.
Kalim’s gaze fell onto his wrist and his eyes welled up with tears in response.
“Jamil…” His hand hovered over it, as though he was desperate to touch it, to heal it, to take away his pain but he couldn’t he’d made it worse—
Jamil’s anger flared against him for a moment, and he had to tell himself it’s not his fault, calm down, not him, not him—
“’s not your fault,” he bit out through gritted teeth, and the words seemed to comfort Kalim a little, though sympathetic tears were still running down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry.”
“We need to get out of here,” Jamil changed the subject, hoping to stop thinking about it. He’d avoided looking at it, not being able to see it in the dark, not wanting to see how the rope was making it so much worse—
It was still searing hot, he could feel his heart beat in it, it was itchy and he knew it was swelling, the rope feeling more and more like a noose around his wrist every minute.
He belatedly realized that Kalim’s hands weren’t tied.
“How did you get free?” he asked, confused.
Kalim wiped his eyes, Jamil’s courage giving him strength to follow suit.
“I untied it. They must’ve taken off my gag when they left me alone and I used my teeth,” he pointed to his mouth, but Jamil was still confused, now for a different reason.
“They left you alone?”
Kalim shrugged.
“I don’t know why. Everything about this is… weird.” His eyes traveled again to Jamil’s wrists, though he continued explaining. “I woke up in a small room and once I got the rope off I came out here.”
Nothing about this made sense.
Why had they even been separated?
Why were they alone?
What happened next?
He glanced at the other door, the one neither of them had come through. The voices were coming from there.
Kalim followed his gaze, then took a deep breath, tears halted for now.
“C-can I untie you?”
Jamil started out of his thoughts, then brought his hands up a little, looking the other way.
It was going to hurt to try and get the rope off…
But with it on, their chances of any sort of escape plan succeeding went down significantly. It had to be done.
He swallowed, trying to look stronger than he felt.
“Okay.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, offering his bound wrists to the younger boy.
Kalim gently took his fingers first, holding him steady as they shook slightly.
“Sorry…” he murmured, and Jamil could imagine him trying to think of the best way to go about it.
He wished he would just hurry up and get it over with…
A whine escaped his throat as Kalim finally tugged on the rope, small fingers moving quickly as he worked to untie it.
The bonds were sharp against his wrists as they were, but every movement against the enflamed, agonizing burn on his right hand felt like he was being stabbed he couldn’t believe he wasn’t bleeding—
“Got it!” Kalim announced triumphantly.
Jamil jumped, his eyes snapping open. He couldn’t even tell the difference.
He pulled his wrists apart, relieved that he was no longer bound, but becoming more resigned to his fate. It wasn’t going to stop hurting. Not even a little bit.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
Kalim gently took his not-injured wrist and together they walked to the door.
This one was also separated from the room beyond by a curtain.
Jamil didn’t let go, but he took the lead as they came to it, pushing Kalim behind himself just in case.
He reached for the curtain, pulling it aside just an inch.
This door led to a room that was a foyer of some kind, and Jamil could hear the voices outside the arch where a front door would normally be.
It was wide open.
What was going on??
“I’ll go first,” Jamil stated, ignoring Kalim’s protest as he let go of his hand and stepped through the arch—
Only for his head to hit a solid wall.
A curse slipped past his lips as he reached for his head.
What?!
Kalim gasped and asked if he was okay (obviously not!), before reaching out and touching the invisible barrier.
It was solid against his hand as well.
“What on earth?!” Kalim gaped, looking just as confused as Jamil felt.
The voices stopped and Jamil froze, footsteps coming towards them.
A muscular, though not extremely large man approached them. Jamil recognized him as the one who’d used magic. The burn on his wrist flared, as if even his presence could hurt him again.
“Did you sleep well, boys?”
“What do you want?” Jamil asked, instinctively pushing Kalim behind him again.
The man grinned.
“Money. And you’re going to fetch it for me.”
He crouched on the opposite side of the barrier, dark eyes young and lively and full of sins.
“No harm will come to you for now. I need you alive, at least until the negotiations are over.”
Okay, so they were going to whoever paid the most for them, it sounded like.
Jamil’s gaze remained locked onto their captor, unflinching, but Kalim must’ve been looking at the barrier, because the man cocked his head to the side and smiled again.
“Impressed? This is my signature spell—Hour Glass. It creates an unbreakable barrier wherever I want, which currently happens to be this building,” he explained proudly, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair. He wasn’t nearly as sinister looking as most of the other attackers had been, some might even call him handsome, though the mind behind his eyes was clearly, to Jamil, full of evil. He would make for a good spy. Maybe he was one.
“You’ll never be able to break this barrier. And don’t try the windows—I’ve covered every escape.”
Jamil wanted to scream.
Kalim began to cough, before choking out, “I-I need water…”
The man rolled his eyes, before stepping away out of the foyer. Kalim’s sudden coughs became more violent, and Jamil turned to him worriedly.
“Are you—“ Kalim honest-to-goodness winked at him.
Jamil immediately caught on.
“Master Kalim! Are you alright? Master Kalim!”
The man’s head poked out again.
“Shut it!”
Kalim only coughed harder.
“Master! Please! Oh, you’re not used to this kind of treatment… don’t worry, we’ll be back at the palace soon…” Okay, maybe he was laying it on a bit thick. But it worked.
“Pathetic little Asim...” the man sighed, before he left again, this time returning with a bottle of water.
He created a hole in the barrier, large enough for the bottle but nothing else, and pushed it through.
Jamil caught it and hurriedly brought it to Kalim, uncapping and sniffing it before taking a small drink himself.
Nothing happened. It was just water.
He definitely hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until right now…
He had to keep up the act, though, and gave it to Kalim, who was still hacking as though he was about to die. Kalim quickly took a drink, and stopped choking as the man walked away, shaking his head incredulously.
He pulled the bottle from his lips and smiled victoriously. Jamil raised his eyebrows.
“That was quite the show, Kalim.”
“But it worked!” he grinned. “C‘mere, let me see your hand…”
“May I—“ Jamil cut in, embarrassed, “may I drink some first?”
Kalim gave him a very fond look of exasperation.
“Of course. Here…”
Jamil took it and drank just a bit, but he still felt a little better. Unfortunately, the more he drank, the less water they’d have for his burn…
The water brought disappointingly little relief to his skin. Jamil was tired of crying.
Not long after, the man who could do magic returned, and this time he brought with him several other people.
Jamil could feel his strength waning, as he once again took a defensive position, but he crushed his feelings and went through the motions again. For Kalim.
“I can’t believe it, lad… you really got them…”
Kalim took his non-injured hand again, causing Jamil to flinch. What was he doing? He drew both their hands down to their sides, and the fight drained out of Jamil, even the adrenaline fading to a faint, rapid pulse.
“What do you want?” he asked this time. Calmly. ”Whatever is on the table now, my father will pay higher. We don’t have to-“
“—Shut up, kid,” one of the newcomers told him angrily. “Nothing you say will change this for you!”
“—buuuut,” the magician interrupted, drawing their focus back to himself, “here’s your proof. Now we need to finish our discussion.”
Jamil was swaying on his feet, vision blurring every few seconds as he fought to keep his breathing steady. He was hitting his limit. He distantly felt Kalim squeeze his hand, realizing just how out of his body he felt.
“Jamil, are you okay? What’s wrong?” he whispered into his ear.
He just shook his head. The men were still talking, discussing prices as though they were at an auction. The mage’s grin only grew as the numbers climbed, the two other parties’ voices climbing with it.
Finally, the smaller man of the two opposing parties—his eyes had a dark, insane glint to them that even the other two’s lacked, the eyes of one who’s killed many—stated a price so high and with such finality that the others went silent.
The second party yielded, and the mage began to thank his new business partner in advance. He was about to be one of the richest men in the Scalding Sands…
They left the room, still speaking, and the moment he and Kalim were alone Jamil sunk to the ground, breathing hard as his brave mask slipped again. Kalim held him gently, whispering watery apologies, and Jamil did his best to hold him back with his good arm, though no words came from his mouth.
Jamil hated how weak he felt, and he knew that Kalim needed him, but… he was…
“Kalim… I’m sorry…” he murmured, and his eyes fell closed.
Kalim’s lip trembled as his friend went limp in his arms. He didn’t let go. He was scared.
What happened next? Kalim knew Jamil would wake up when he needed him, but… how long would they be left alone? Not long, apparently.
Some new men entered the foyer, but none of the men that Kalim recognized as their leaders or the mage were with them. The barrier still stood between them, and though it had been near invisible before, it was now glowing slightly, blinking as though the magic was wavering.
The men were speaking in a language that he couldn’t understand, but they were watching their watches apprehensively, casting him glances every few moments. They were waiting for something.
Kalim wished he could try to reason with them-even at his age, he had a way with words—but right now his voice was too shaky to make such an attempt at speech. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he wouldn’t panic. He’d been through this before. He’d been through this before—
He pulled Jamil’s unconscious form closer, placing his head on his best friend’s chest to hear his heart beat. It was a grounding sound, holding Kalim down enough to focus on the present, to remain calm, to not panic…
When Jamil came to, he was no longer holding on to Kalim. He felt like he’d lost something, but.. he was…
A scream that made his heart stop for a moment forced him to dizzy consciousness, and he tried to push to his knees. What was going on?
They were no longer alone in this room.
“Just stay still, boy, it will be over faster…”
Jamil blinked, fighting the pain and the exhaustion that had taken him out of it, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.
Kalim was standing in front of him, as though he was trying to…
Jamil’s eyes snapped upwards, beyond Kalim. The man who had paid for them, the one with the look of a killer in his eyes, was holding a gun. His two lackeys both held knives, and though they were sheathed, they could become a threat in less than a moment.
“Come hold him still!” the leader barked, and as one of the men rushed to hold Kalim, the boy glanced down to where Jamil was. Their gazes met for a moment, and though Kalim’s eyes were red and tears were running down his cheeks, they immediately lit up when he saw that Jamil was awake. Jamil couldn’t read his expression (hope? faith? relief?), but an equally unidentifiable emotion welled up in his chest.
He was about to watch Kalim die.
Kalim wasn’t fighting the hold, he’d given up, he knew he was too weak to stop this.
And Jamil…
Jamil was horrified. Horrified and livid.
Hatred boiled in his veins, these men deserved to die, they deserved to suffer the worst fates imaginable. Kalim was going to die, he would most likely die after, by the hands of these monsters who couldn’t stand to see someone like Kalim above them. No—Jamil wouldn’t pretend to know their motives, but they were disgusting and unjustifiable.
Kalim was forced to his knees, and the gun was held right to his head. He let out the most terrified whimper Jamil had ever heard, and that was the last straw.
These horrific, disgusting snakes needed to die. Jamil was not going to sit and watch as his world was permanently snuffed out. He got to his feet, and the attention of all three men was drawn to him. The leader didn’t see him as a threat, already telling the second man to ‘deal with the slave.’
Before he could reach him, Jamil locked eyes with the man who was about to commit the greatest sin of his life.
With a voice so angry, so dark, so tired and so powerful it didn’t even sound like his own, Jamil whispered, “go to hell.”
And then he watched, as the light left the man’s eyes, he removed his hand from Kalim, and raised his gun to his own head. His eyes welled up with tears, but he obeyed wordlessly, and then he shot himself. His body fell to the ground with a thud, and Jamil’s ears were ringing as he stood, frozen, staring at the body on the floor.
Kalim’s scream broke the silence, and the two men who had followed the now-dead murderer slowly turned to stare at Jamil, horror in their eyes. One of them recovered faster than the other, rushing to Jamil and shoving him into the wall. The air burst from his lungs upon the impact.
“What did you do, you little devil?!”
Jamil didn’t even know. He’d controlled the man like a snake charmer controlled his beast, and-and he didn’t feel the least bit guilty.
“Answer me!!”
The man’s hands were tight around his throat, and he gasped for air as spots popped into his vision.
“Let go of him!” Kalim screamed, and then the one who’d been holding Kalim threw him to the ground.
“We may as well finish what our master started,” he spat, looking at Kalim with such disgust that Jamil wished that he would fall into a pit deep and dark and with rocks so sharp that he—
He drew his knife, the sharp blade glinting in the last light of the sun being let in through the door. Jamil kicked at the man who was holding him, but it was no use. No, no no nonono—
Suddenly, he felt his knees hit the ground, and things were moving too fast. His ears were still ringing, and one of them had popped. Something wet and dark was running down the side of his head. The man who had been holding him to the wall was clutching his own head with a growl. Kalim had thrown something at him. He turned to the young Asim, fury in his eyes, and the two boys ran to each other. Kalim clasped Jamil’s hand again, and Jamil stood in front protectively.
“Don’t take another step,” he hissed.
He locked eyes with both of the attackers, and again, the light left their eyes and they just… obeyed him. They’d both hurt them, now. They’d dedicated their lives to that murderer. They deserved the same fate. The world didn’t need them. Jamil held their lives in his hands.
“You’re never going to hurt us—or anyone else—again. J-just die!”
Both of them obeyed, lifeless eyes glowing a dull red before they committed suicide, red blooming over their hearts where their own knives had pierced them.
Jamil watched as they died as well, feeling extremely ill, more so when he realized that Kalim had shoved his fist into his mouth and was trembling violently.
“Come on, Kalim. Let’s get out of here,” he said, pulling him close with his good hand as he stood up, guiding the younger boy up with him.
Kalim followed him, pulling his hand from his mouth as he threw up onto the floor.
“Jamil,” he whispered, his grip slipping slightly. Jamil ignored it, instead gripping his hand tighter.
Don’t let go. Don’t let me go. Plea—
Not important.
“Jamil, what happened?”
I wish I knew.
“It doesn’t matter. We need to find a way home…”