“I loved this gorgeous book about blood magic, chosen family and refugees in a hostile city. Naseem Jamnia has created a rich, complex world.” —Charlie Jane Anders, author of All the Birds in the Sky
In this intricate debut fantasy introducing a queernormative Persian-inspired world, a nonbinary refugee practitioner of blood magic discovers a strange disease that causes political rifts in their new homeland. Persian-American author Naseem Jamnia has crafted a moving, nuanced exploration of immigration, gender, healing, and family.
2022 World Fantasy Award Nominee
Buzzfeed Best Books Coming Out in Summer 2022 Literary Hub 10 New SF and Fantasy Books to Augment Your August Book Riot 8 Notable Nonbinary SFF Books You Need to Check Out
A Foreword Book of the Day Lambda Literary August’s Most Anticipated LGBTQIA+ Literature Tor.com Reviewer’s Choice: The Best Books of 2022 Ambling Along the Aqueduct’s Pleasures of Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2022
Subjective Chaos Kind of Awards Nominee, Best Fantasy Novel
2022 Locus Award Finalist
2023 Crawford Award Shortlist
“I loved this gorgeous book about blood magic, chosen family and refugees in a hostile city. Naseem Jamnia has created a rich, complex world.”
—Charlie Jane Anders, author of All the Birds in the Sky
[STARRED REVIEW] “A delight to read. Highly recommended.”
—Library Journal
In this intricate debut fantasy introducing a queernormative Persian-inspired world, a nonbinary refugee practitioner of blood magic discovers a strange disease that causes political rifts in their new homeland. Persian-American author Naseem Jamnia has crafted a gripping narrative with a moving, nuanced exploration of immigration, gender, healing, and family. Powerful and fascinating, The Bruising of Qilwa is the newest arrival in the era of fantasy classics such as the Broken Earth Trilogy, The Four Profound Weaves, and Who Fears Death.
Firuz-e Jafari is fortunate enough to have immigrated to the Free Democratic City-State of Qilwa, fleeing the slaughter of other traditional Sassanian blood magic practitioners in their homeland. Despite the status of refugees in their new home, Firuz has a good job at a free healing clinic in Qilwa, working with Kofi, a kindly new employer, and mentoring Afsoneh, a troubled orphan refugee with powerful magic.
But Firuz and Kofi have discovered a terrible new disease which leaves mysterious bruises on its victims. The illness is spreading quickly through Qilwa, and there are dangerous accusations of ineptly performed blood magic. In order to survive, Firuz must break a deadly cycle of prejudice, untangle sociopolitical constraints, and find a fresh start for their both their blood and found family.
[STARRED REVIEW] “This debut fantasy novella featuring a nonbinary protagonist sets its intriguing medical mystery within a Persian-inspired world. The city-state of Qilwa has provided a reluctant welcome for Firuz-e Jafari and their refugee family. As a healer practicing forbidden magic, Firuz fears discovery but still offers a helping hand at one of the city’s few remaining free clinics, where they find a friend and mentor in the healer Kofi. But the plague that is ravaging Qilwa increases tensions about migrants flooding the city and creates reams of new rules and regulations for the clinic. When a strange, new disease starts killing people and results in bodies that are preserved while decomposing, Firuz has a medical mystery on their hands that will lead to the greatest dilemma that a healer can face—how much harm is acceptable in the race for a cure? VERDICT The delicately interwoven complexity of the story, along with the loving portrait of Firuz and their found family, makes Jamnia’s fantasy puzzler a delight to read. Highly recommended, especially for fans of Katherine Addison’s The Witness for the Dead.”
—Library Journal
[STARRED REVIEW] “Naseem Jamnia’s brilliant and insightful novella, The Bruising of Qilwa, explores questions of identity and belonging in a nuanced medical mystery. . . . Jamnia has built an intricate, multi-layered world full of magic and queerness.”
—Shelf Awareness
“I loved this gorgeous book about blood magic, chosen family and refugees in a hostile city. Naseem Jamnia has created a rich, complex world in a very short space, and I am so into it. I’ve read a lot of books lately about empires and rulers and warfare, and it’s so refreshing to read a book that’s about healers. People in this book are trans, nonbinary, asexual and aromantic, and it’s never a big deal but does matter to their characters, which I just adore. Firuz works as an assistant healer at a clinic run by the kindly Kofi, while teaching the novice blood-magic user Afsoneh and helping their brother Parviz to do a kind of top surgery. But a mysterious ailment is hurting people all over the city, and Firuz needs to find the cause before their fellow refugees are blamed. Jamnia deftly reveals a subtle but potent theme: when marginalized people are scared to use their power, because they’re afraid others will hate them for it, bad things result. The Bruising of Qilwa left me wanting way more of this world and its magical systems—but above all, I wanted to spend way more time with these amazing characters. I need a whole series about Firuz, Parviz and Afsoneh. You should definitely savor this one.”
—Charlie Jane Anders, author of All the Birds in the Sky
“A fascinating medical mystery in a rich, complex world I didn’t want to leave.”
—S. A. Chakraborty, author of The City of Brass
“Beautiful and bittersweet, The Bruising of Qilwa is a story of immigration and borders, of identity and culture, of blood and oppression and family—written with an expert flourish of prose and eye for detail. The Bruising of Qilwa is a masterful debut, one that marks the continued ascendancy of Jamnia’s literary star.”
—Martin Cahill, Tor.com
“An incredibly timely story, told by a deft hand that manages to weave a fascinating magic system together with all-too-real issues into something truly, wonderfully, not seen before. Equal parts slice of life, fantasy tale, medical drama and mystery blend into a book not soon to be forgotten.”
—Alice Scott, Barnes & Noble
“I adored this city, with its vibrant history and super-fresh magic system, but I loved these astonishing complex vivid characters even more. A fun and fast-paced ride that keeps you guessing all the way.”
—Sam J. Miller, author of Boys, Beasts & Men
“With prose that reads like lush poetry, The Bruising of Qilwa builds an intricate world full of history, magic, and life.”
—Z. R. Ellor, author of Silk Fire
“Exquisite and original…. Naseem Jamnia has threaded themself—their identities, their experiences, their histories, their culture—into every layer of the narrative.”
—Locus
“Read if you like: blood magic, an overall science-based magic system, multicultural setting, healing, plants, sibling dynamics, a celebration of queerness, mentor figures, personal stakes, community, mystery, medicine/medical science, competent characters.”
—A. R. Frederiksen, author of The Deathsea Dyer
“The Bruising of Qilwa transports you to a lushly-described, beautifully imagined world where magic and medicine meet. Heartfelt relationships temper the grim reality of a flawed world with a creeping, strange new disease. A delightful read.”
—Neon Yang, author of the Tensorate Series
“A short, propulsive tale that admirably centers a strong queer protagonist and offers thought-provoking commentary on the struggles of refugees.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Naseem Jamnia is a bold, visionary writer, and The Bruising of Qilwa makes for a superb introduction to their nuanced and evocative Persian-inspired fantasy. The good news is that there are many more brilliant novels already in this writer’s literary quiver. Get ready for them; they’re coming! Naseem is fierce and dangerous—in all the best ways.”
—David Anthony Durham, author of the Acacia Trilogy
“A tense exploration of weighty themes that can be easily mapped onto present-day issues, but grounded in lovable, sympathetic characters—many of them queer—and fun fantasy elements that are easy to understand but deep in their implications.”
—Autostraddle
“The Bruising of Qilwa is a book with enormous heart, gently and skillfully tackling topics ranging from immigration to racism to colonial history.”
—Every Book a Doorway
“An incredible experience. I didn’t know world-building in a fantasy story could feel so seamless. That scenes around medical magic could make sense to me and increase my enjoyment of the story is still blowing my mind. The queerness in this book is so natural—no explanations, no phobias, just queer people living their lives.”
—Women Write About Comics
5/5 stars; Escape Rating A+ “The Bruising of Qilwa is one of those stories that makes the reader think, and feel, and think again, long after the last page is turned.
—Reading Reality
“A quick, engaging read with real heart and a thoughtful subtext to its immersive setting.”
—Christopher East
“The characters were complex. The story and the emotions were complex. The way the book ended was perfection. It was messy. It was heartbreaking. It was exactly what I wanted and needed.”
—MI Book Reviews
5/5 stars. “This novella has a bit of everything: medical fantasy, slice-of-life, and a mystery, all presented in some of the tightest, most layered writing I’ve had the joy and privilege of reading.”
—Jo Writes Fantasy
“A medical mystery set in a fantasy world that manages to approach the medical and magical sides of the story with the rigor of hard science fiction.”
—Ambling Along the Aqueduct
“Naseem Jamnia’s novella is a delight, from its lean, flowing prose to its distinctly Middle Eastern world-building and its private, prickly protagonist. I loved the way family—blood and found—was front and centre.”
—There’s Always Room for One More, 2022 favorites
“All in all, this is an impressive debut: a rich and layered story with compelling characters, beautifully told, that raises complex questions and issues without easy answers.”
—It’s a Jumble
Copyright – Jeramie Lu Photography
Naseem Jamnia is a former neuroscientist and recent MFA graduate from the University of Nevada, Reno. Their work has appeared in the Washington Post, Cosmopolitan, The Rumpus, The Writer’s Chronicle, and other venues. Jamnia has received fellowships from Bitch Media, Lambda Literary, and the Otherwise Award, and they recently received the inaugural Samuel R. Delany Fellowship.
In addition to cowriting the academic text Positive Interactions with At-Risk Children (Routledge, 2019), Jamnia’s work has been included in the Lambda Literary EMERGE anthology (2020) and We Made Uranium! And Other True Stories from the University of Chicago’s Extraordinary Scavenger Hunt (University of Chicago, 2019).
Jamnia is the managing editor at Sword & Kettle Press, an independent publishing house of inclusive feminist speculative fiction. They are also the former managing editor at Sidequest.Zone, an independent gaming criticism website.
A Persian-Chicagoan and child to Iranian immigrants, Jamnia now lives in Reno with their husband, dog, and two cats. Find out at more at www.naseemwrites.com or on Twitter and Instagram @jamsternazzy.
In the early sun-swept hours of the morning, when purples and pinks smeared across the sky like blood, Firuz-e Jafari looked for a job.
It had taken a mere fifteen minutes to walk from the Underdock to their destination. Down unlit streets they stepped, keeping watch for broken glass and wooden splinters, stepping around plumped rodent carcasses, tails run over by carts or feet. The sailors and fisherfolk, up before dawn, filled the air with laughter and chatter and other sounds of their trades, interrupted but not discontinued by the muezzin’s call to prayer. The briny smell of the sea and mingled odors of rotted fish and garbage faded as Firuz walked. As the crossing into the next district—the residential buffer between the largest market and the docks—transitioned from broken stones to smooth, wooden planks, Firuz’s pace slowed until they found what they sought.
Over the doorway, a painted wooden sign read Kofi’s Clinic in cracked and faded letters. Underneath, in a smaller but darker script, someone had translated it into Dilmuni, as if the Free Democratic City-State of Qilwa was still part of the queendom. Firuz’s stomach backflipped, rebelled despite their lack of breakfast. Already the humid air was warm; droplets dribbled down the back of their neck. The clinic wouldn’t officially open for another few hours, but if the rumors were true, Healer Kofi would already be here, readying for the day’s steady stream of those who needed him. Firuz needed him, all right, though not quite in the capacity of a healer.
“The door is open,” rumbled a deep voice from within. “Come in.”
The voice carried over on a slight breeze, brushing past Firuz’s ears like gentle lips. It brought smells of mint and ginger, which should have soothed them. Healer smells. Familiar smells. They reached to tug at a length of hair that no longer existed—they’d cut their hair the day before, in preparation for this meeting, back to its usual top crop—before pushing through, ready to persuade this Kofi person to take them on, no matter the objections.
The clinic waiting room burst with cushions and blankets, a myriad of mismatched chairs. Along the left-hand wall rose a slate board, still smudged with chalk from what might have been yesterday’s patient names. The opposite wall framed a tapestry that both set Firuz’s teeth on edge and made them want to hug themself. On a crimson background with golden triangles circling the edges towered the eaglelike Shahbaaz, with Ous wings outstretched, orbs clutched in Ous talons. Despite their mother’s often frustrating devotion, Firuz had not worshipped in years; still, the emblem of their god was an aching reminder of the home they’d only recently left behind.
How strange, to see it in a Qilwan clinic.
Only one person stood inside, an umber-skinned individual with coils haloing their head, wearing the colorful, geometrically patterned clothes the city-state was famous for—in this case, a yellow piraahan embroidered with a repeating tear-drop boteh pattern in red, oranges, and a touch of blue. “Be right with you,” they said without turning, arms kilter as they sorted herbs on a back workbench. Even from the entrance, Firuz smelled the basil flowers, noted the black sticks of licorice root in a pile to the side.
“Of course. Take your time.” Firuz sat in one of the front seats, the cushion buoying their descent. They ran a hand over the fabric, soft cotton and bumps of goldoozi, embroidered flowers. No tears, not even evidence of wear. New, or cared for? Firuz doubted Kofi had discretionary funds enough to supply the clinic with new upholstery, not now. The clinics around the city were overwhelmed with plague victims, though Kofi’s was the only one willing to treat the refugees fleeing from Dilmun. Refugees who had nothing, who flocked to Qilwa’s streets with their terrified bodies, who brought with them—so said the argument—a disease wiping out swaths of the city, leaving behind a patchwork of neighborhoods with the sick and the healthy alike, everyone worrying they would be next.
The herb sorter soon finished, stepping over baskets on the floor toward Firuz: tall, thin, and bowed like a rice plant. Firuz remembered their manners and rose. Qilwans were big on handshakes and eye contact, unlike the Sassanian and Dilmuni tradition of kissing cheeks. “I’m sorry to barge in so early.”
The other did not smile, but they did not look annoyed either. “It is no matter, as this is when I am usually here. I am called Kofi.”
Did everyone in this place present themselves with only their names? How could someone look at you and assume what you wanted to be called, in a language that designated distinctions? Three weeks in Qilwa and Firuz still wasn’t used to it, kept expecting the Dilmuni introduction. Fortunately, they had heard stories, knew Kofi did not care what forms of address people used, but generally acquiesced to moving through the world as a man.
“I’m they-Firuz.” Reminding themself to keep firm their grip, Firuz was dismayed at the unexpectedly limp grasp of their own clammy palm. They steeled their countenance and did not wipe their hand afterward.
Kofi jutted out his chin. “Your pendant. May I?”
“Huh?” Firuz touched the golden amulet they’d worn somewhat religiously for the last year, into which they’d etched a short spell to keep bugs away. It resembled a slender dagger, its top curving into a diamond before narrowing at the hilt. The shape, a ward. The runes, a prayer. “Oh, of course.” They passed it over, hiding a grimace as they did so; already they could feel the buzz of insects ganging up on them. Their skin crawled.
The healer squinted at the metal, held it up to the light. “Interesting work. Yours?”
The Bruising of Qilwa
Naseem Jamnia
World Fantasy Award Nominee
“I loved this gorgeous book about blood magic, chosen family and refugees in a hostile city. Naseem Jamnia has created a rich, complex world.”
—Charlie Jane Anders, author of All the Birds in the Sky
In this intricate debut fantasy introducing a queernormative Persian-inspired world, a nonbinary refugee practitioner of blood magic discovers a strange disease that causes political rifts in their new homeland. Persian-American author Naseem Jamnia has crafted a moving, nuanced exploration of immigration, gender, healing, and family.
The Bruising of Qilwa
by Naseem Jamnia
ISBN: Print: 9781616963781; Digital: 9781616963798
Published: August 2022
Available Format(s): Trade Paperback and Digital
2022 World Fantasy Award Nominee
Buzzfeed Best Books Coming Out in Summer 2022
Literary Hub 10 New SF and Fantasy Books to Augment Your August
Book Riot 8 Notable Nonbinary SFF Books You Need to Check Out
A Foreword Book of the Day
Lambda Literary August’s Most Anticipated LGBTQIA+ Literature
Tor.com Reviewer’s Choice: The Best Books of 2022
Ambling Along the Aqueduct’s Pleasures of Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2022
Subjective Chaos Kind of Awards Nominee, Best Fantasy Novel
2022 Locus Award Finalist
2023 Crawford Award Shortlist
“I loved this gorgeous book about blood magic, chosen family and refugees in a hostile city. Naseem Jamnia has created a rich, complex world.”
—Charlie Jane Anders, author of All the Birds in the Sky
[STARRED REVIEW] “A delight to read. Highly recommended.”
—Library Journal
In this intricate debut fantasy introducing a queernormative Persian-inspired world, a nonbinary refugee practitioner of blood magic discovers a strange disease that causes political rifts in their new homeland. Persian-American author Naseem Jamnia has crafted a gripping narrative with a moving, nuanced exploration of immigration, gender, healing, and family. Powerful and fascinating, The Bruising of Qilwa is the newest arrival in the era of fantasy classics such as the Broken Earth Trilogy, The Four Profound Weaves, and Who Fears Death.
Firuz-e Jafari is fortunate enough to have immigrated to the Free Democratic City-State of Qilwa, fleeing the slaughter of other traditional Sassanian blood magic practitioners in their homeland. Despite the status of refugees in their new home, Firuz has a good job at a free healing clinic in Qilwa, working with Kofi, a kindly new employer, and mentoring Afsoneh, a troubled orphan refugee with powerful magic.
But Firuz and Kofi have discovered a terrible new disease which leaves mysterious bruises on its victims. The illness is spreading quickly through Qilwa, and there are dangerous accusations of ineptly performed blood magic. In order to survive, Firuz must break a deadly cycle of prejudice, untangle sociopolitical constraints, and find a fresh start for their both their blood and found family.
[STARRED REVIEW] “This debut fantasy novella featuring a nonbinary protagonist sets its intriguing medical mystery within a Persian-inspired world. The city-state of Qilwa has provided a reluctant welcome for Firuz-e Jafari and their refugee family. As a healer practicing forbidden magic, Firuz fears discovery but still offers a helping hand at one of the city’s few remaining free clinics, where they find a friend and mentor in the healer Kofi. But the plague that is ravaging Qilwa increases tensions about migrants flooding the city and creates reams of new rules and regulations for the clinic. When a strange, new disease starts killing people and results in bodies that are preserved while decomposing, Firuz has a medical mystery on their hands that will lead to the greatest dilemma that a healer can face—how much harm is acceptable in the race for a cure? VERDICT The delicately interwoven complexity of the story, along with the loving portrait of Firuz and their found family, makes Jamnia’s fantasy puzzler a delight to read. Highly recommended, especially for fans of Katherine Addison’s The Witness for the Dead.”
—Library Journal
[STARRED REVIEW] “Naseem Jamnia’s brilliant and insightful novella, The Bruising of Qilwa, explores questions of identity and belonging in a nuanced medical mystery. . . . Jamnia has built an intricate, multi-layered world full of magic and queerness.”
—Shelf Awareness
“I loved this gorgeous book about blood magic, chosen family and refugees in a hostile city. Naseem Jamnia has created a rich, complex world in a very short space, and I am so into it. I’ve read a lot of books lately about empires and rulers and warfare, and it’s so refreshing to read a book that’s about healers. People in this book are trans, nonbinary, asexual and aromantic, and it’s never a big deal but does matter to their characters, which I just adore. Firuz works as an assistant healer at a clinic run by the kindly Kofi, while teaching the novice blood-magic user Afsoneh and helping their brother Parviz to do a kind of top surgery. But a mysterious ailment is hurting people all over the city, and Firuz needs to find the cause before their fellow refugees are blamed. Jamnia deftly reveals a subtle but potent theme: when marginalized people are scared to use their power, because they’re afraid others will hate them for it, bad things result. The Bruising of Qilwa left me wanting way more of this world and its magical systems—but above all, I wanted to spend way more time with these amazing characters. I need a whole series about Firuz, Parviz and Afsoneh. You should definitely savor this one.”
—Charlie Jane Anders, author of All the Birds in the Sky
“A fascinating medical mystery in a rich, complex world I didn’t want to leave.”
—S. A. Chakraborty, author of The City of Brass
“Beautiful and bittersweet, The Bruising of Qilwa is a story of immigration and borders, of identity and culture, of blood and oppression and family—written with an expert flourish of prose and eye for detail. The Bruising of Qilwa is a masterful debut, one that marks the continued ascendancy of Jamnia’s literary star.”
—Martin Cahill, Tor.com
“An incredibly timely story, told by a deft hand that manages to weave a fascinating magic system together with all-too-real issues into something truly, wonderfully, not seen before. Equal parts slice of life, fantasy tale, medical drama and mystery blend into a book not soon to be forgotten.”
—Alice Scott, Barnes & Noble
“I adored this city, with its vibrant history and super-fresh magic system, but I loved these astonishing complex vivid characters even more. A fun and fast-paced ride that keeps you guessing all the way.”
—Sam J. Miller, author of Boys, Beasts & Men
“With prose that reads like lush poetry, The Bruising of Qilwa builds an intricate world full of history, magic, and life.”
—Z. R. Ellor, author of Silk Fire
“Exquisite and original…. Naseem Jamnia has threaded themself—their identities, their experiences, their histories, their culture—into every layer of the narrative.”
—Locus
“Read if you like: blood magic, an overall science-based magic system, multicultural setting, healing, plants, sibling dynamics, a celebration of queerness, mentor figures, personal stakes, community, mystery, medicine/medical science, competent characters.”
—A. R. Frederiksen, author of The Deathsea Dyer
“The Bruising of Qilwa transports you to a lushly-described, beautifully imagined world where magic and medicine meet. Heartfelt relationships temper the grim reality of a flawed world with a creeping, strange new disease. A delightful read.”
—Neon Yang, author of the Tensorate Series
“A short, propulsive tale that admirably centers a strong queer protagonist and offers thought-provoking commentary on the struggles of refugees.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Naseem Jamnia is a bold, visionary writer, and The Bruising of Qilwa makes for a superb introduction to their nuanced and evocative Persian-inspired fantasy. The good news is that there are many more brilliant novels already in this writer’s literary quiver. Get ready for them; they’re coming! Naseem is fierce and dangerous—in all the best ways.”
—David Anthony Durham, author of the Acacia Trilogy
“A tense exploration of weighty themes that can be easily mapped onto present-day issues, but grounded in lovable, sympathetic characters—many of them queer—and fun fantasy elements that are easy to understand but deep in their implications.”
—Autostraddle
“The Bruising of Qilwa is a book with enormous heart, gently and skillfully tackling topics ranging from immigration to racism to colonial history.”
—Every Book a Doorway
“An incredible experience. I didn’t know world-building in a fantasy story could feel so seamless. That scenes around medical magic could make sense to me and increase my enjoyment of the story is still blowing my mind. The queerness in this book is so natural—no explanations, no phobias, just queer people living their lives.”
—Women Write About Comics
5/5 stars; Escape Rating A+ “The Bruising of Qilwa is one of those stories that makes the reader think, and feel, and think again, long after the last page is turned.
—Reading Reality
“A quick, engaging read with real heart and a thoughtful subtext to its immersive setting.”
—Christopher East
“The characters were complex. The story and the emotions were complex. The way the book ended was perfection. It was messy. It was heartbreaking. It was exactly what I wanted and needed.”
—MI Book Reviews
5/5 stars. “This novella has a bit of everything: medical fantasy, slice-of-life, and a mystery, all presented in some of the tightest, most layered writing I’ve had the joy and privilege of reading.”
—Jo Writes Fantasy
“A medical mystery set in a fantasy world that manages to approach the medical and magical sides of the story with the rigor of hard science fiction.”
—Ambling Along the Aqueduct
“Naseem Jamnia’s novella is a delight, from its lean, flowing prose to its distinctly Middle Eastern world-building and its private, prickly protagonist. I loved the way family—blood and found—was front and centre.”
—There’s Always Room for One More, 2022 favorites
“All in all, this is an impressive debut: a rich and layered story with compelling characters, beautifully told, that raises complex questions and issues without easy answers.”
—It’s a Jumble
Naseem Jamnia is a former neuroscientist and recent MFA graduate from the University of Nevada, Reno. Their work has appeared in the Washington Post, Cosmopolitan, The Rumpus, The Writer’s Chronicle, and other venues. Jamnia has received fellowships from Bitch Media, Lambda Literary, and the Otherwise Award, and they recently received the inaugural Samuel R. Delany Fellowship.
In addition to cowriting the academic text Positive Interactions with At-Risk Children (Routledge, 2019), Jamnia’s work has been included in the Lambda Literary EMERGE anthology (2020) and We Made Uranium! And Other True Stories from the University of Chicago’s Extraordinary Scavenger Hunt (University of Chicago, 2019).
Jamnia is the managing editor at Sword & Kettle Press, an independent publishing house of inclusive feminist speculative fiction. They are also the former managing editor at Sidequest.Zone, an independent gaming criticism website.
A Persian-Chicagoan and child to Iranian immigrants, Jamnia now lives in Reno with their husband, dog, and two cats. Find out at more at www.naseemwrites.com or on Twitter and Instagram @jamsternazzy.
Visit Naseem Jamnia’s website.
Year One
In the early sun-swept hours of the morning, when purples and pinks smeared across the sky like blood, Firuz-e Jafari looked for a job.
It had taken a mere fifteen minutes to walk from the Underdock to their destination. Down unlit streets they stepped, keeping watch for broken glass and wooden splinters, stepping around plumped rodent carcasses, tails run over by carts or feet. The sailors and fisherfolk, up before dawn, filled the air with laughter and chatter and other sounds of their trades, interrupted but not discontinued by the muezzin’s call to prayer. The briny smell of the sea and mingled odors of rotted fish and garbage faded as Firuz walked. As the crossing into the next district—the residential buffer between the largest market and the docks—transitioned from broken stones to smooth, wooden planks, Firuz’s pace slowed until they found what they sought.
Over the doorway, a painted wooden sign read Kofi’s Clinic in cracked and faded letters. Underneath, in a smaller but darker script, someone had translated it into Dilmuni, as if the Free Democratic City-State of Qilwa was still part of the queendom. Firuz’s stomach backflipped, rebelled despite their lack of breakfast. Already the humid air was warm; droplets dribbled down the back of their neck. The clinic wouldn’t officially open for another few hours, but if the rumors were true, Healer Kofi would already be here, readying for the day’s steady stream of those who needed him. Firuz needed him, all right, though not quite in the capacity of a healer.
“The door is open,” rumbled a deep voice from within. “Come in.”
The voice carried over on a slight breeze, brushing past Firuz’s ears like gentle lips. It brought smells of mint and ginger, which should have soothed them. Healer smells. Familiar smells. They reached to tug at a length of hair that no longer existed—they’d cut their hair the day before, in preparation for this meeting, back to its usual top crop—before pushing through, ready to persuade this Kofi person to take them on, no matter the objections.
The clinic waiting room burst with cushions and blankets, a myriad of mismatched chairs. Along the left-hand wall rose a slate board, still smudged with chalk from what might have been yesterday’s patient names. The opposite wall framed a tapestry that both set Firuz’s teeth on edge and made them want to hug themself. On a crimson background with golden triangles circling the edges towered the eaglelike Shahbaaz, with Ous wings outstretched, orbs clutched in Ous talons. Despite their mother’s often frustrating devotion, Firuz had not worshipped in years; still, the emblem of their god was an aching reminder of the home they’d only recently left behind.
How strange, to see it in a Qilwan clinic.
Only one person stood inside, an umber-skinned individual with coils haloing their head, wearing the colorful, geometrically patterned clothes the city-state was famous for—in this case, a yellow piraahan embroidered with a repeating tear-drop boteh pattern in red, oranges, and a touch of blue. “Be right with you,” they said without turning, arms kilter as they sorted herbs on a back workbench. Even from the entrance, Firuz smelled the basil flowers, noted the black sticks of licorice root in a pile to the side.
“Of course. Take your time.” Firuz sat in one of the front seats, the cushion buoying their descent. They ran a hand over the fabric, soft cotton and bumps of goldoozi, embroidered flowers. No tears, not even evidence of wear. New, or cared for? Firuz doubted Kofi had discretionary funds enough to supply the clinic with new upholstery, not now. The clinics around the city were overwhelmed with plague victims, though Kofi’s was the only one willing to treat the refugees fleeing from Dilmun. Refugees who had nothing, who flocked to Qilwa’s streets with their terrified bodies, who brought with them—so said the argument—a disease wiping out swaths of the city, leaving behind a patchwork of neighborhoods with the sick and the healthy alike, everyone worrying they would be next.
The herb sorter soon finished, stepping over baskets on the floor toward Firuz: tall, thin, and bowed like a rice plant. Firuz remembered their manners and rose. Qilwans were big on handshakes and eye contact, unlike the Sassanian and Dilmuni tradition of kissing cheeks. “I’m sorry to barge in so early.”
The other did not smile, but they did not look annoyed either. “It is no matter, as this is when I am usually here. I am called Kofi.”
Did everyone in this place present themselves with only their names? How could someone look at you and assume what you wanted to be called, in a language that designated distinctions? Three weeks in Qilwa and Firuz still wasn’t used to it, kept expecting the Dilmuni introduction. Fortunately, they had heard stories, knew Kofi did not care what forms of address people used, but generally acquiesced to moving through the world as a man.
“I’m they-Firuz.” Reminding themself to keep firm their grip, Firuz was dismayed at the unexpectedly limp grasp of their own clammy palm. They steeled their countenance and did not wipe their hand afterward.
Kofi jutted out his chin. “Your pendant. May I?”
“Huh?” Firuz touched the golden amulet they’d worn somewhat religiously for the last year, into which they’d etched a short spell to keep bugs away. It resembled a slender dagger, its top curving into a diamond before narrowing at the hilt. The shape, a ward. The runes, a prayer. “Oh, of course.” They passed it over, hiding a grimace as they did so; already they could feel the buzz of insects ganging up on them. Their skin crawled.
The healer squinted at the metal, held it up to the light. “Interesting work. Yours?”