Chapter 1
The Blood Pact
He even dreamed of gold. Hasan’s eyes were blinded by money. His only thought was to find the treasure rumored to lie beneath the ruins of an ancient city. The old grandmothers in the village would whisper that the area was under the protection of underground jinn, and that the treasure was under their guard. Most treasure hunters laughed at these stories, but Hasan… Hasan was inclined to believe in dark things. One winter night, he met with a jinn worker—a cincil—in an abandoned mill outside the village. The creature, not quite a man, stood in human form, but its shadow seemed to belong to something else. When Hasan mentioned the treasure, the cincil let out an ugly, cracking laugh. “That treasure is not empty,” it hissed in the darkness. “It has owners. Those with reversed feet and fiery eyes. They demand blood. They demand a sacrifice.” Hasan’s heart pounded with excitement. “What kind of sacrifice?” “Pureblooded. But not flawless. Lame, stuttering, crippled… The useless one. They love imperfection. The purity within the flaw… Give them that, and the treasure is yours.” The cincil made the pact. Hasan agreed without a second thought. His mind immediately went to the boy in the village. Ali. Motherless, fatherless, living with his nearly blind grandmother, walking with a limp from a clubfoot since birth… He was a nobody. If he disappeared, no one would shed many tears. He carried out his plan two nights later. He caught Ali as he was returning home after the evening call to prayer. He gagged his mouth with a rag and tied his arms tightly. The fear, terror, and helplessness in the boy’s eyes extinguished the last spark of humanity within Hasan. Dragging him, he brought him to the depression at the center of the ancient ruins. The moon had hidden behind the clouds. The cincil was already there. Shadows began to gather around them, peeling away from the darkness itself. Hasan felt nauseous. The shadows were in human form, but none were human. They all had feet like goat hooves, reversed and cloven! Their faces were in constant motion, shifting like smoke, forming terrifying, indefinable expressions. One of them, with horn-like protrusions, stepped forward. “Blood!” its voice howled, turning into a whistle on the wind. “The treasure is fed by blood! It opens with blood!” With trembling hands, Hasan drew his knife. Ali’s eyes were wide with shock, looking at him with a gaze that understood nothing but sensed everything. Avoiding his eyes, Hasan drew the blade across the boy’s throat. A warm liquid flowed onto his hands. The shadows moved at once, almost pouncing on the blood… As the earth drank the child’s blood, an entrance, a mouth of a cave, appeared amidst the ruins. It was filled with dazzling gold and jewels. Leaving the child’s lifeless body behind, Hasan filled his sack with gold. When he looked back, he saw that the shadows and the cincil had disappeared. Only footprints remained in the soil. Reversed goat hoof prints… The next day, the news spread through the village: “Crippled Ali fell into the stream and drowned; the current took his body.” No one was suspicious. Hasan, however, had become rich overnight.
