Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (41 page)

“Next year I will be a priestess. We can live comfortably in Baalbeck,” she had told him. “Come with me.”

He had laughed her request away. “I will never live in the shadow of Baal,” he told her. “Better to die at sea than to live in the shadow of death.”

She had not replied and grew progressively forlorn. Not long afterward, she left him after one of their memorable adventures. He learned later that she had joined the Temple of Baalbeck. He went to Tanniin and settled in Taniir-The-Strong. Zakiruun carried urgent messages from her, but he refused to hear them. As her power grew, so did her fame. He would often hear the King’s guests whisper her name with a respect bordering on awe. As the years passed, he began to forget her face and voice. He had shut the door on his past, and she had chosen to stay behind it; nothing would force him to open it again.

Nothing did.

Until now.

A few weeks earlier, King Jamiir informed him of her arrival and requested that he be her escort and protector during her stay in the kingdom. The news struck him like a fist in the chest and troubled him deeply, more than he was willing to admit.

“Why is she coming?” he had asked. His tone was harsher than he would have liked.

The King raised an eyebrow. He nicknamed Tanios,
Erilin—Dragon’s Wrath—
for he sensed in the commander a burning fire that reminded him of the famous bronze head of Tanniin at the shrine of Erilin. In a large cave, at the back of the imposing Temple of Mitriil, the head of the god, twenty-seven feet tall, emerged from a bed of beaten bronze, symbolizing the primordial pool of chaos. Beneath a pair of eyes glittering with contained fury, the open jaws exposed three rows of sharp teeth, representing the god’s swift justice, unbending judgment, and the painful death he reserves for the guilty. There were 6,243 hand sculpted scales on the god’s face, each inlaid with a turquoise stone representing the farseeing powers of Tanniin.

“You will meet her at the military port of Mitreel in one week, my dear Commander, and you shall be your courteous and affable self,
as usual
.”

Tanios had quickly regained his composure, but his heart remained troubled. When he laid eyes on her as she stepped onto the ship’s footbridge, he knew he was still in love with her. The strength of his feelings surprised and distressed him. Still, the keenest observer would not have detected the turmoil in his heart hiding behind a slight frown and the tightening of his jaw.

“Good evening, Tanios,”

Her voice, hard as steel, brought him back to the present.
How you have changed
, he thought, bowing courteously
. Your face is as beautiful as ever, but within, you are as hard as a stone statue, for Baal is molding you after his own image.

“You have asked to see me?” he said.

Bahiya looked away, then closed her eyes.

“Simer, another athlete from Hiyam’s team, is gone.”

“Again? When?”

“Earlier this evening at curfew.” She glanced quickly at him and closed her eyes. A lock of hair lay lazily on his forehead, partially hiding his right eye, and she caught herself wanting to push it away like she used to do when they were together. She clutched her left fist and crossed her arms, resisting the irrepressible desire to wrap them around his waist. The strength of her feelings surprised her.
Even after all these years,
she thought,
how strange is the human heart.

Tanios felt like asking her what was wrong, but held back. “You mean the team’s curfew?”

“Yes. He did not answer the rally call this morning. Hiyam and her men went to his room, only to find it empty and in order. They cannot confirm that he spent the night there.”

He looked at her, and she gazed at him. The moment their eyes met, they knew they were still in love with each other. Tanios wanted to take Bahiya in his arms. She wished she could lean against him and close her eyes. But the moment passed, and the two lovers faded away, leaving behind a high priestess of Baal and the Commander of the Silent Corps.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He started walking, then stopped abruptly and turned around. “By the way, why do you ask me to help you, when you could just as well use those magic powers of yours to find him?”

“Assuming I had such powers, a magical act of this magnitude is a dangerous endeavor. It would be felt miles around. If I knew the identity or location of the murderer, I might be able to help. Without it, I would do more harm than good.”

Tanios gave a curt nod and left. He went straight to the room of the young man. As he walked, he could not shake the feeling that Bahiya was hiding something from him.

Habael was perplexed.

As he stepped out of the royal kitchen into the wide hallway of the first floor, he saw Ibromaliöm enter the Lone Tower’s staircase.
Why is he going up the Lone Tower?
he wondered.
There is nothing up there, save cobwebs and mice.

Intrigued, he followed the judge up the stairs until he reached the third level. Servants and slaves shuttled between the Royal Hall and the staircase in the Garden Tower as they made ready for the end of Games celebration in honor of the winner. The judge was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, Habael turned around to continue his climb and came face-to-face with Jedarc.

“Well, well, young man, what brings you to this part of the castle?”

“The commander asked me to escort you,” the Silent replied.

“Oh, he wants to keep me out of trouble.”

“Well,” replied Jedarc with an embarrassed smile, “he’s trying to keep us …I mean,
me
…out of the mines.”

“I see,” said Habael in a chuckle, “Well then, why don’t you come up the tower with me? One of the judges went up those stairs and I wondered why. So I followed him, but he is nowhere to be seen.”

“After you, Master Habael,” said Jedarc.

They reached the top and saw no one. A massive oak door with thirteen stars carved along its wide frame stood locked before them.

“Is this the Star Room?” asked Jedarc.

“Indeed it is,” said Master Habael, inspecting the door. “I see you were paying attention during history classes.”

“I like history,” replied Jedarc. “Knowledge of history is depth of vision,” he added.

“Spoken like a true prince,” said Habael, peering through the keyhole. He could see the edge of a wooden table, but nothing more.

“What a strange handle,” observed Jedarc. Ever curious, he reached out to grab it, but Master Habael—moving with surprising speed— gripped his hand and pulled it back.

“Do not touch it,” he said gently. “Look at it, but do not touch.”

Jedarc relaxed his hand and Master Habael removed his. The young man bent down to examine the handle. It was half an inch thick and nearly five inches long, made of beaten iron and covered with tiny scales.

Its undulating shape reminded Jedarc of a snake.

“A headless snake,” he whispered. “Who, in his right mind, would make a door handle in the shape of a snake?”

“Presumably, the head is on the other side of the door,” replied Habael.

Jedarc gave him a puzzled look and shook his head. “What’s wrong with people?” he wondered out loud. He inspected the handle once more and realized that its end was split into two inwardly curved scorpion tails. “Look at these scorpion fangs,” he exclaimed. “They’re sharp. They can cut you if you’re not careful.”

“Scorpions do not have fangs,” corrected Master Habael, “they have stingers.”

“Fangs, stingers, two chickens on opposite sides of the same road,” replied Jedarc. Seeing the confusion on the old man’s face, he added, “I mean, it’s the same thing, they’re both dangerous. Anyway, this is crazy.”

“I wish these
were
fangs,” said Master Habael, “but they are not. These are horns of power. When their tips—fangs as you called them—point to the object the horns are attached to, the way these point to the handle, they draw power from anyone who touches them, sapping their life.”

“Really?” he said. “Magic? Someone is practicing magic here?”

“I don’t know,” said Master Habael. “The commander will need to get involved.”

“You’re right, Master Habael. I remember now Master Garu’s lessons on magic.” He pointed at the handle. “If the tips are curled outward, pointing away from the object, they would sting anyone who would touch the object, injecting him with a curse. But when they stand straight up, they draw the life force out, and then inject their victim with a curse.”

“Master Garu taught you well,” said Habael, “Sadly, my dear Jedarc, from this day on, you must learn to control your impetuosity. If I did not stop you, who knows what this handle would have done to you.”

“I would have missed out on a lot of chicken meals, that’s for sure.”

“The world as we know is passing,” said the old man with an altered voice. “A new age is dawning. The heavens are hidden and darkness falls.” Jedarc stared at Master Habael with a look of confusion and concern. Habael chuckled and tapped the Silent on the back. “You are right, Jedarc, do not mind this old gardener. Nevertheless, be on your guard,” he said, glancing at the handle. “Familiar objects can be deceptive.”

Jedarc backed away from the door. “I have always thought that magic is for the cowardly lot,” he muttered. “Nothing good can come of it.”

Master Habael smiled appreciatively.

“If this object is so dangerous, why is it still here?” asked Jedarc. “Why not get rid of it?”

“I presume if the Temple knew how to, the priests would have done so already.”

“So, the Temple of Baal is on our side?” asked Jedarc.

“They are sincere,” said Habael, “but they are sincerely wrong.”

The old man’s bold answer surprised Jedarc. It required real courage to call the Temple of Baal evil, and yet, the old man did so without affectation or anger. Jedarc knew that Habael had simply stated a fact.

“Do you see the ring of fire carved in the wood around the handle?” asked Master Habael.

Jedarc looked carefully at the door surface near the handle. He saw a carving, faint and barely discernible on the surface of the wood. He looked at it intently, vaguely aware that Master Habael was calling his name. The voice of the old man faded away, and Jedarc was now peering inside a ring of fire at least a mile in diameter. Deep beneath the ring, in utter darkness so cold that nothing moved, he saw many faces: a bull with gleaming eyes and horns of steel, a many-eyed spider, a dragon, a shark, and a face of mud, barely discernible. Beyond these, he sensed the presence of other creatures, but he could not see them. He heard coming from the ring of fire the alluring chant of a women’s choir. The voices called his name, whispering, goading him to close his eyes and jump, to fall in and fall down. His eyes began to close, his mind began to drift, and he was about to give in, when in a flash, the wings of a powerful being jolted him, and Noraldeen’s face came into focus.

“Jedarc, wake up,” she shouted. Behind her voice, he heard another saying these same words, but with a power that could level mountains and reshape the surface of the earth—a voice of command that amplified Noraldeen’s own voice. “Come back. Get out of there.”

Jedarc jerked and would have tumbled down had Master Habael not caught him in time.

“What happened?” asked the Silent, cold and shivering. “What just happened?”

“Noraldeen,” shouted Lord Orgond, springing up from his seat. He rushed to his daughter’s side, who sat on the floor amid the flowers and the shattered pieces of the vase she had been carrying. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know, Father,” replied the young woman, wiping her forehead. “I was looking at the daisies, thinking how pretty they were, when suddenly, they became this giant ring of fire over a deep abyss, and I saw Jedarc falling. So I called him, and I heard another voice calling also. The voice was powerful. And suddenly, I am back here with you.”

Lord Orgond placed his hands on his daughter’s shoulders, gazing intently at her. “Come, let me help you up. Let us step onto the balcony; the fresh air will do you some good.”

They stepped onto the narrow, stony balcony, overlooking the northern plain. There, the Lord of Amsheet stood by his daughter. He was as tall as Commander Tanios but with a slender build and a jovial face. His blond hair softened his features, exuding charm mixed with the right type of warmth: concerned, but not overbearing. Lord Orgond was beloved by his people for his fair and firm rule.