The Tale of Shahrazad and Delhemma (BtVS, post-"Chosen")
So, No Fair Fights.
I had a conversation among Buffy friends years ago where I conjectured that the reason Riley wasn't there to green-light Spike's unchipping was that there was that they made demon eggs WMDs in canon, so what would a demon-fighting Marine be doing in 2003 but invading Iraq? And, after May, you definitely have many young women suddent blessed with Slayerdom, and there is likely one among the thousands in the invasion/occupation force.
In creating that world, I created a character who has had several names. I finally decided to go with Shahrazad, the heroine of 1001 Nights. There is something very specific she does that I couldn't make anyone else do in context. But No Fair Fights is largely about not knowing the history before you, and was largely told in flashback, and while I think Shahrazad has a very specific part of that narrative, there wasn't much of her there.
So I decided to write her story, and by doing so, go against everything that's blocking me in NFF. Need to be very parsimonious with explanation? Instead, have fun with exposition! Stuck in the POV of one character and one writing style? Jump around! Write as if it's folklore, or a transcript of a tapped phone! Even a nursery rhyme! Repurpose and rewrite things you released years ago!
I don't know that a lot of this really makes sense without knowing the reality and characters that I have in my head but haven't fully written out. When I put it on AO3, I'll put it out after NFF, but who knows when that'll be.
1. The Beginning of the Tale
The story goes that, in a time of great spiritual upheaval and temporal conflict, the Great Evil sought to rid the Earth of a protector, Dhāt al-Himma. This was a title that was to be passed from girl to girl, who would protect the Earth from the ghül and the djinn. With the title came skills and abilities far beyond those of normal men.
There was, in Baghdad, a man of great learning. He taught in the great colleges of the history of the great kingdoms between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. He had a daughter, Shahrazad, who he trained in the histories, both temporal and mystical. There was another child, Donyazad, who had been entrusted to the man for training, for within her was the possibility of becoming Dhāt al-Himma.
But the Great Evil had forces in hiding, who moved across the world to destroy those with such a possibility, and those who would support and guide Dhāt al-Himma in her mission. They came in the night with curved blades and black robes and no eyes, and took the lives of Donyazad and her guardian.
Shahrazad had read many books in her father's library, had traveled with her father as he dragged knowledge from the sand where it slumbered, and was well-versed in the histories, both mystical and temporal.
You are of course well-aware of the Fam al-Jahim and the battles of Dhāt al-Himma and her companions, but these battles of the mystic, while of importance to all life, are hidden behind the curtain of the temporal world. It is such that great armies of the West came to claim Babylon, Baghdad, Nineveh and Uruk. Among the warriors of the West who came was a former companion of Dhāt al-Himma, and therefore was skilled in combat against foes temporal as well as mystical. He and his cohort would go among the people, finding the treasures of history that were taken as the old ruler fell, returning them to the archives, unless the temporal treasure was a mystical weapon, as many were.
It was fated that they would meet, and also that they would meet another.
2. Delhemma
"EH-stay Kodo!"
There's a flashlight in my face. With a barrel.
"IR-fa Ye-de-ka!"
My hands go up.
"EH-stay Kodo!"
Get up. Same words.
I stand up without using my hands. My hands are up.
"Taharak!"
Move.
Voice doesn't ask if I know English. Voice doesn't know much Arabic.
"Taharak!"
I walk forward, through the doorway.
"Duur ee-la ya-Meen!" Right. I'm facing the wall. "Ogifi!" Stop. I Stop.
My hands are put palm-first into the wall. Boots separate my feet. A leg between mine.Hands at my arms legs waist chest. One arm is pulled behind me, a band around my wrist. The other goes. My wrists are bound. My face and chest against the wall.
The light reflects off the floor. A hand pulls me standing and pushes me to the courtyard.
No. Not there.
"In-Hanee!"
Kneel.
Donya, her life's blood draining from her, swings at her eyeless attacker, who chants "Yaltahimuk min al'asfal"
I cannot kneel. Not here.
"In-Hanee!"
A boot inside my knee and I'm down. Knee hits hard against the tile.
Donya laughs as I pretend to pour tea into her pink plastic cup, then into a cup for my stuffed elephant
The only light in the courtyard comes from the barrel of a gun behind me.
Donya laughs and swings her wooden practice sword, without form but with some grace, even at six
I blink away tears. Now is not the time to show weakness. A lifetime of memories will not help me now. Especially not the last ones.
Sounds of commotion come from all directions. They have found, or soon will, the weapons locker, with swords and axes and maces, crosses and crossbows.
They have found, or will soon find, the museum's collections, divided into artifacts to protect at all costs and artifacts that can be sold to agents of collectors at sufficiently high cost.
They have found, or will soon find, her father's collection. The hidden histories, the things I was warned never to touch but learned to touch anyway.
Wait.
Beyond the memory of death. There was something I learned to feel from Donya. Father called it Alqadrah. Possibility.
This is stronger. Possibility transformed to certainty.
The person with the rifle is Dhāt al-Himma.
These people ransacking my house must be aware. Aware of Father, and his calling beyond his calling. Of the forces that seek to destroy all humanity.
This changes everything.
I can do something with this.
3. Den of Lions
Shahrazad's familiarity with the mystical histories and the way of the Dhāt al-Himma convinced the Warrior Finn that she would be an asset to his quest to collect the treasures of history stolen from the archives. Her familiarity with the brokers and agents who trade in the treasures is a secret she kept, believing it would end with her in a dark cell instead of the Warrior’s favor.
In one way, Shahrazad trusted the Warrior Finn. When he decided that an action was correct, that action was taken, and taken with intentional ferocity and ferocious intent, from him and the entirety of his command. When he decided that an action was foolish or without merit, or that it was outside of his oath, that action was set aside. In his way, he was also a learned man, like her father, but he was a warrior and commander of warriors, and held himself as such.
Shahrazad had set herself against Delhemma in her head, desperately wanting a more worthy girl to hold the mantle. Finn says a word and she runs with her tail wagging, hoping for words of affirmation. In times when they were alone, away from the other warriors in Finn's cohort, Delhemma would inquire about the histories, both mystical and temporal, and about the mantle she carries. Shahrazad was tempted to compare her to her beloved Donya, but her anger brought her to tears.
Shahrazad distrusted the Shaman, as you would a man who can read your memories like a scroll, a man who can destroy your memories like a fire, a man who can bend reality to his will with words and gestures. Worse still, he placed himself under the Warrior Finn, instead of asserting his own power. She did not understand his mind, so she could not anticipate his actions.
The other warriors in the Warrior Finn's cohort, Miller and the others, respected her for her knowledge of the histories, both mystical and temporal, and the types of djinn that live in the land between the rivers. (They don't know of her knowledge of the markets for artifacts. Shahrazad works tirelessly to hide this.) To them, however, Shahrazad represented the people whose armies they had defeated, and that there was still fighting frustrated them, and at some point, and as allied as she seems to be with their aims, she recognizes the potential for a conflict she could not win.
But among the cohort, there is a man called Atkins. He is from the West, from the country that had ruled the land between the Rivers and still controlled many of the treasures of its history. He was a man of great learning, as was his father, having studied at the great school upon the Thames. He knew the histories, both temporal and mystical. He must number among those who guide Dhāt al-Himma. She dared not ask him about the men with curved blades and black robes and no eyes, nor the plan of the Great Evil. But she believed she knew the man's motivations and goals.
But the man called Atkins is friendliest of the lions she finds in this den. Unlike Dānyāl, she has no great devotion, no divine protection between hersef and her doom. Only her intellect and cunning.
4. The Four Elements
Enki and his siblings cast lots to claim their dominion in this world.
Elil won the skies, the clouds that would provide or withhold water, the wild winds that fill the skies with dust. She would send storms and rain from the seas or hot dry air from the desert based on her whim.
Abzû won the waters. The streams and rivers would run high or run dry, the oceans would be still or rage as she was still or angered.
Enki won the land, and created vast plains and high mountains. The ground would shake in fear, and sink into water or dry up and turn to sand with a wave of his hand.
Gibil was the youngest and his turn came last, and the remaining dominion was fire. He looked around at the lands and the seas and the skies, and he saw no fire. He seethed but stayed silent, learning. Learning that where Enki built the land, there was fire. Where Elil brought storms, there could be fire. Then the great rage of Gibil could see the light of day, and through the smoke, could block out the light. For ages, Gibil held his rage, showing only when circumstances allowed.
Then came men.
5. Transcript
DATE: June 12, 2003
TIME: 6:45pm EST
PARTICIPANTS:
ASF: Agent Samantha Finn
MRF: Major Riley Finn
[Recording begins. Conversation in progress.]
ASF: "... so I'm spending half the time planning the next selection round and half the time doing continual education to keep up my medical license. I haven't even pulled a trigger in a month. Listen to me, I sound so domestic."
MRF: "A little domestic time sounds pretty good right now."
ASF: "When can you take leave?"
MRF: "We have a high operational tempo right now. If things slow down, I dunno, maybe Thanksgiving?"
ASF: "I'll wait to pencil that in until I see you in the doorway."
MRF: "Now you're making me seem unreliable."
ASF: "That's between you, me, and our favorite uncle."
MRF: "He's our favorite uncle, but you're my favorite Sam."
ASF: "Winner and still champion!"
[Laughter]
MRF: "Yeah. So, where's one of the nationals. Shahrazad Muadham. She's good. She's read it all and has a lot of the answers in the artifacts and antiquities game, as well as the normal cavalcade of HSTs."
ASF: "You certainly talk her up in the after-action reports."
MRF: "I'd like to roll her in, full-time."
ASF: "No, Ry."
MRF: "Not the strangest person ever pulled into the outfit."
ASF: "You think Ellis will let an Iraqi national that deep into Special Operations, even our weird spooky corner of it, this soon after we blew the doors off her country?"
MRF: "I think not having her in the loop could leave us blind when dealing with something with designs to end all of everything."
ASF: "No. Ellis gives us a long leash, but this is a bit too long. He wouldn't go for it."
MRF: "Just no? No angle we can work?"
ASF: "Give it time. Give her a chance to prove she's a hardcore bookworm. Next year, who knows?"
MRF: "Who knows, who knows. On that topic, any new leads on our friend in California?"
[End of recording]
6. Elementary
"We have a special question for you."
There's a room in the palace they call the "tock" that they don't allow Shahrazad into, and when Finn and Delhemma and the rest leave in their trucks to go capture people like they captured her, Atkins goes to that room.
There is a room next to the "tock" where they leave Shahrazad, with folding tables and marble floors, to research words and phrases from old languages and to catalog the reclaimed artifacts. Because she knew who worked with which department, and which brokers worked most with which epoch, she made mental list of who were in Tas Ferrat and who were still free, but that was not information they asked of her.
Atkins coming to her when they others were on an "op" was unusual. He usually delegated it to one of Finn's soldiers. They always get indignant when called that, saying they're "marines". Like that distinction means anything.
"Lieutenant Atkins?" She errs, saying the American pronunciation, rather than the one the British prefer.
"Call me Thomas. Please."
He opens to a page in the Baghdad Museum catalog, showing a knife with a blue handle. Gold filigree on the scabbard and the pommel. "It was unearthed in Ur of the Chaldees in 1928, in a cemetery. It has a purpose beyond the decoration. What might it be?"
He slid the book to her from across the table, keeping acceptable distance. It would not be good to be too familiar.
"It might be a decoration, a sign of affluence. It might be a weapon carried in the open to indicate power. If you find it, it might be a copy of the original, or a copy of a copy. The craftsmen of Baghdad are very talented."
"I suppose it's true. Someone might prefer to have it as a trophy, rather than having it be a bounty for all mankind."
She turns the book, looking at the pommel. "This is worn, indicating the wearer rested his left hand upon it. There is corresponding wear on the sheath, so this was worn like this in life. But this -" She turned the page, showing a large picture of the worn side of the scabbard. "- this is a safar. A …"
"A ward? A charm?"
"Yes. Meant to disguise the magic, and it being worn inside would occult itself."
"It would not do to announce your magic too early."
"Yes." She had seen this piece before, both in her father's books and in the museum, but it had not occurred to her before. "But magic to do what?"
"It would be difficult to be sure without having it to hand. But this row here. That's a variation from the X pattern. A series of Vs. I believe that points to something."
It would require comparisons with similar items from the same period. Comparisons that would require resources from far away. It is a leap, but not the greatest leap she's seen. Shahrazad passes a statue of Abbas ibn Firnas, the first to attempt to fly and live, whenever she enters the encampment they call Victory. She feels inclined to leap.
"But to what might it refer?"
"I rather expect it refers to Elil."
"How do you connect that change to the Lord of the Air?"
"It's, as one might say, elementary."
7. The Dark Art of Interrogation
Your hands are strung above your head with rough rope. You are on your knees, taking shallow breaths. You cannot breathe deeply with your arms held up. For a moment, your eyes close, your head falls forward. Pain in your joints and your wrists rubbed raw jolts you alert again. This occurs again and again. You lack the energy to kneel with your back upright.
You have no idea where you are. They transport you in shackles and a hood. You haven't seen the sun or even a clock in longer than you can remember. They haven’t let you sleep in longer than you remember.
The walls are featureless and white. They have two bright lamps shining at you. There are other things. You counted and named the other things when they brought you here. They don’t matter. You have forgotten them.
The latch on the door opens with a thud that echoes off the metal walls. You pray for strength as you hear the voice. This is Number Three. The people they send to get answers from you, they matter. You remember them. You listen and hear commands, not questions. You let the words pass.
More enter. You look down. Two pull you to your feet. Two others tighten the rope. Your head is light, and you struggle to use the ropes to hold you steady. The first new one is tall, strong. American. You raise your head and see a scar across his left eye. If he returns, he will be Twelve.
The next, Thirteen, is small. A woman. Sunni. A scarf over her head. Her emotions, fear and disgust, race across her face. She stays near the door.
The last is a Westerner with long hair, tattoos and earrings. Fourteen. Sunglasses cover his eyes. He comes forward and looks you in the face. You smell tobacco on his clothes and breath.
turns and Hassan pounds the horn of the Hilux, filled with boxes of clay tablets and figurines, causing the goats and children and women to slowly, too slowly make a
This man doesn’t talk to you. You struggle to hold his gaze, but look away.
You will not talk to this man.
cannot believe that these ungodly statues and mud clumps with scratches are so valuable, but crates of weapons and bullets prove
Fourteen rubs his fingers together at the edge of your peripheral vision. The strength of your legs falter for a moment and you hang until you can get your legs under you.
crates of weapons and bullets prove that value. Hassan moves to the crates to inspect the bounty, blue-handled dagger tucked in his belt
He lifts his glasses and his eyes, with wide black irises, stare into you.
the bounty, blue-handled dagger tucked in his belt with a golden scabbard. He raises his crowbar to
You breathe deeply because you can, because your arms are to the side, not above your head. Your legs begin to shake.
the bounty, blue-handled dagger tucked in his belt with a golden scabbard
Fourteen steps back, nods at Twelve, and they all leave as you struggle to remain standing, the latch echoing off the white walls as it closes.
8. Game of Twenty Squares
Baghdad is divided. Faction upon faction. The key divide for the task at hand is the secular versus the religious. The looting of the museums occurred gradually, then suddenly. The curator's assistant who took the important piece took it well before things went truly bad, along with a number of artifacts of higher historical value.
To afford to stay and protect that section of the cache, arrangements had to be made. There were five brokers today likely within the same social circles. Neighboring homes and businesses were (somehow) reported and raided, causing four brokers to lie low and wait.
The remaining broker has ties to the North and East. The couriers and smugglers, not all, but enough, were reported for moving other things, which they certainly did. There are those who would bring hashish into Baghdad, and those who would bring violence. There is no telling where those who bring violence would go when they return, so because of raids and attacks, the broker (who still did not know the value of his wares) traded the necklace for a small, but sufficient for further sale, supply of hashish, and the necklace would go through Basra and Arak to the Grand Bazaar.
Enki was never defeated, never locked into a crypt. The creation of lands and mountains exhausted him, and he created a cave and a throne and became one with them, and the city and the Bazaar grew around him. The Warrior Finn and the armies of the West wanted no war with the East, nor war with Enki. Delhemma had been chosen to make peace with Enki, and Shahrazad was chosen to travel with her. The countries of the West had no love for the East, nor the East for the West, so this was a dangerous journey.
The amulet, two antelopes joined at their hindquarters, measuring less than an inch and a half in height and width, is in the stock of a merchant in the bazaar, and while Delhemma was making her peace, Shahrazad knew the piece, as the catalog of the museum had been in her father’s library, and Shahrazad knew craftsmen in the Copper Market who would perfectly recreate the work and the patina, not once or twice but thrice (and likely more, for their own purposes), but not the magic that made the piece truly important. She talked with the merchant’s assistant and worked her way from the display pieces to the pieces held back for the true collector.
Shahrazad had learned slight-of-hand as a child, to amuse Donya between their lessons, and at the slightest lapse of attention from the assistant, she was able to switch the ancient amulet with the forgery. She demurred, going back to a more showy piece from the collection. This would be her reminder, a piece she may place on her shelves that will always remind her of her craftiness. The amulet, however, must remain hidden.
Shahrazad makes her way to the archway where the driver, Davud, waits. When Delhemma returns from the depths, they will see. The true amulet burns and jumps in her pocket, being this close to Enki. She considers using the talents granted by the amulet, but no, not here. Not here.
9. The Crooked Man
There was a crooked man, and he led a crooked band
He lived in a crooked town within a crooked land
They kept the crooked books and wrote the crooked verse
And kept a list of all the girls who held a crooked curse
He had crooked wife and had a crooked child,
And sent him to a crooked school to live and be exiled
They had a crooked paddle and they had a crooked rod
And they would cause their crooked pain and his classmates would applaud
And he went to a crooked college where the crooked best would go
And he learned families of crooked men were all crooked long ago
So he sold a crooked paper and broke a crooked rule
And was expelled and shunned from this crooked school
So he changed his crooked name, he walked his crooked mile
And hid his crooked thoughts behind a crooked smile
He heard a crooked voice, saw a face crooked and strange
Who knew the crooked status quo and wanted crooked change
He set upon the crooked band, made fat from underuse
He placed a crooked bomb and set a crooked fuse
He watched that afternoon from across the crooked town
And laughed as the crooked bomb blew the crooked building down
10. Gradually, then Suddenly
Everything is pain. Each breath more painful than the last. Shahrazad's struggles against the rope are weaker and weaker.
Thomas and the Shaman told her that they would use the mystic to travel to the altar, that those would be faster than organizing a force, and she believed them.
Her blood, they said, would open the crypt and free Elil. They would then use the amulet to control Elil and the winds. For what purpose, they did not say.
The Shaman opened a portal for Thomas before he lifted the dagger with the blue handle, and spoke the words in angry Akkadû before he plunged it down into her. The amulet, the wrong amulet, hung from his neck. The true amulet burned on her chest as she struggled. She couldn't tell what he hit, but her gagged scream drowned out his chants, until the door opened, the winds came and the Shaman didn't control his body anymore. It was now Elil, Lord of the Winds, and she carried herself out with a great gust of wind that came from nowhere.
That was an hour ago. That was a lifetime ago. Her fingers feel cold. Her toes feel cold. Her arms are heavy, too heavy to move, to struggle against the ropes. She doesn't know what organs were hit, but she knows her body moves blood from her extremities to her torso to keep her alive, and that allows more blood to escape from her body and stain the altar. The job is done, so it is a waste.
She pants. Deep breaths bring cascades of pain. The fixtures Thomas had set up fill the room with inconsistent light, the shadows hiding her increasingly tunneling vision. She reads the characters on the wall but can’t make the sentences. Were they praise? Were they warnings? Seven curses on the ancients and their warnings, choosing to bind Elil rather than destroy her.
Seven curses on the ancients for hiding their key in a dagger.
Seven curses on her father and the assembly he joined, who abandoned him when their nations disagreed, as if their disagreements were more important than the whole world.
Seven curses on the men with no eyes and the Great Evil who led them. May all their plans fail forever.
Seven curses on Donya, for failing and falling when her blessing was so close.
Seven curses also on Delhemma, for displaying her blessing so openly while she still grieves.
Finally, seven curses on herself, on her anger and foolishness and pride. She had followed the people whose minds she thought she understood, and now her blood had unleashed a mad god. She had doomed her people to untold horrors. She had made herself the sacrifice.
"Clear! One down. Medic! Medic!"
New lights flash above her eyes. She recognized the voice. "Stay with me. Help is coming. MEDIC!"
Sharazad feels her arms move from above her head to her chest. She hears rips and tugs at her jacket and blouse. The gag falls from her lips. She works up her last strength to speak. "Slayer," she says, "I
Author’s notes
Glossary:
Dhāt al-Himma: Woman of Noble Purpose (used to mean Slayer)
Delhemma: She-Wolf (used to mean Slayer)
Fam al-Jahim: Mouth of Hell
Yaltahimuk min al'asfal: From beneath you, it devours