Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (48 page)

Soloron expressed his agreement with a grin and a bow. He understood the general meaning of the dwarf’s words and did not want to offend him by saying the wrong thing; and with the dwarfs, the wrong thing is usually the part of the sentence he would consider safe. “Master Kerk, you are the best blacksmith I have ever known,” he said cautiously.

Kerk bowed. “Thank you, Commander,” and returned to his work.

Soloron left the smiths and stood outside contemplating the desert

“Tonight, the throne shall be mine.”

The three previous Games had started from the plaza south of Taniir-The-Strong, but the Game of Meyroon was launched north of the castle, from a square plaza overlooking a narrow and steep canyon. Ramany, expecting a much larger crowd for the fourth and last day, had tasked the slave master in charge of the seating arrangements to speed up the transportation of the benches from the first to the second plaza. The slaves had worked tirelessly through the night to dismantle, carry, and rebuild the benches along the perimeter of the plaza that faced the starting location of the Game. By the time the sun lit the tip of the Lone Tower and even before the last nail had been hammered, the benches were filled to capacity by an eager mass.

Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the slaves had raised a smaller platform for the King, high priestess, judges, and the King’s retinue, in the center of the plaza. Twenty feet away, they were putting the finishing touches on a one-hundred-and-fifty-foot wooden ramp which jutted over the edge of the canyon.

To reach the ingress to the Mine of Meyroon, each contender would run along the ramp, picking up speed as they went, and jump into the canyon to catch a rope dangling from an arch thirty feet away. The ramp was gently sloped to direct the athlete’s sight away from the bottom of the canyon which lay some two thousand feet below. A contestant who missed the rope would tumble to his death.

Having caught the rope, they would swing to the other side where they would have to land on a four-foot-wide ledge without slamming into the opposite cliff. Then, they would have to use two more ropes to reach the entrance of the Mine at the opposite end of the Canyon.

The canyon was known as
Terim Tanniin
—Dragon’s Flight—and anyone who walked along its rims would be struck by the serpentine shape ∿ of its walls. From the spectators’ vantage point, the ledge was located close to the left end-point of the snake-like canyon ∿. Running along this ledge—and not falling into the canyon—the athlete would “take flight” by catching a second rope with which he would cross the first bend. Midway through, he would let go of the second rope, catch a third that would carry him through the second bend and to the right end-point of the canyon where the entrance to the Mine of Meyroon was located. Three ropes were chosen for this Game in honor of El-Windiir, who “flew thrice”, as the locals would say.

Food merchants and sellers of souvenirs walked among the crowd shouting their wares. Some had even managed to create small, wooden figurines of Ahiram. But in the prevailing stillness, their shouts sounded out-of-place as if this was a funeral and they the unwelcome intruders.

The royal procession sat on the raised platform surrounded by the Silent. The athletes stood in a single line facing the King. Jamiir nodded, and eight trumpeters facing each other—four on either side of the royal platform—let out a vibrant shout that cut through the foreboding quietude, signaling the beginning of the Game of Meyroon. Incredibly, the crowd did not applaud, but remained still, and the stillness was so thick that one could distinctly hear the cry of a babe in his mother’s arms high up in the benches. Ahiram lifted his eyes and saw her trying desperately to calm her child. An image flashed back from his memory: his mother sitting under the great tree, consoling him. He looked away, surveying the crowd for friendly faces.
Father, if I do not see you alive, may you receive my bones and know that your son fought bravely.

Hiyam glanced at Ahiram, but seeing that he caught her glance, she looked away quickly and regretted it. She glanced at him again and saw that he was staring at her with his annoyingly defiant smile. She tried to sustain his look but could not. Her conscience pricked her. She wanted to believe her mother’s arguments, to be convinced they were noble and good. “Better that a slave dies than Tanniin be crushed,” Bahiya had told her. “The life of a slave is not worth an empire,” she explained, matter-of-factly.

Still, Hiyam could not accept that Ahiram had to pay the price for their peace with his blood
. But he is a slave, a thing. He is not even a person.
She repeated these words to herself, trying to subdue her conscience, forcing it to accept the Temple’s logic, but like a wild horse, it stubbornly refused.
If you were to kill a horse half as good as Ahiram, you would be severely punished,
she told herself
. You would treat a dog better than they are treating him, and he is the most amazing athlete you have ever seen. Admit it, Hiyam. He is the only one who bested you despite the odds and Baal’s magic.

At long last, the slaves had completed their tasks. The slave master walked the length of the ramp for a final inspection and when he nodded his approval, the trumpets sounded for the second time, and again, only silence answered. The King looked back wondering if the benches were empty or if the people had forgotten about the Games. But no, the benches overflowed with men, women and children staring at him. The King, who had never been close to his people, believed their soundless stance stemmed from a childish disappointment.
These people must have heard that the Games are about to be cancelled,
he thought,
Still, better the
T
emple cancels the Games than overtake the Kingdom.
Had he perceived the years of pent-up frustration, anger, and pain simmering beneath their muted silence, he might have been scared and perhaps would have taken the appropriate corrective actions, for Jamiir was not an ill-intentioned king, but rather a king who expected people to bring their problems to his attention instead of being attentive to the unspoken problems of his subjects. But beyond sorrow and suffering the hush of the crowd carried hope forward like a silent wave about to crash on the Kingdom and overtake it.

The King composed himself and glanced at Bahiya sitting beside him. She was cooling herself with her small, gold-trimmed, ivory fan, one of his many gifts for the high priestess. He wondered if the crowd was offended by the Queen’s absence. Earlier, Ramel had met with Bahiya. “I do not like these Games,” she had explained, “and I would greatly appreciate it if you could do me the honor of standing by the King’s side today.”

King Jamiir looked at Ahiram and breathed a sigh of relief, knowing it would end today. The slave would not come out of the mines alive. The people’s dream would be buried with him, the crowd would disperse, and life under Baal’s shadow would go on. He would have to reassure the Temple of Tannin’s faithfulness, but with Bahiya at his side, it should be a relatively simple procedure.

Then we will all be able to sleep soundly
, thought King Jamiir, forgetting the murders still haunting the castle.

The third trumpet blast sounded and did not fare any better than the first two. Only this time, tension filled the air, and the contestants bowed low before the King. There were three teams left in the race: Ahiram, Hiyam and her men, and one team from Quibanxe. The banners of Ahiram were lifted high and all present, except for the King, the high priestess, and the royal retinue, stood up to salute the flag. Then Garu stood, walked to the King and gave him a white silk handkerchief. Jamiir’s hand rose, the athletes parted, and Ahiram stood facing the ramp, readying himself for the final race. Jamiir kept the handkerchief in his hand for a little while longer, enjoying his ability to hold everyone in suspense, and then let it go. It whirled, buoyed by a sudden waft that twirled it rapidly before dropping it abruptly on the crowd.

The trumpets sounded, imperious and commanding. Ahiram leaped forward. A roar of joy answered back. Suddenly, the fervor of the Games was back. The crowd was cheering their champion. Ahiram sped up along the ramp and without hesitation, jumped along an upward arc, and as if to defy the gods, the King, or the Temple, he swung around facing the crowd as he caught the rope single-handedly, and let it carry him backward to the other side.

The crowd rose like a mighty wave and chanted his name. He reached the end of his flight and landed softly on the ledge, bowed and waved. A thunderous clap answered him. He bowed once more, and then looked down.

The view was breathtaking. Deep below, the valley glimmered like a thousand jewels beneath the sun. Straight ahead, the canyon’s vertical walls shone, and above him the limitless sky was calling.

“Oh, how I wish I could fly,” he sang in a low voice. “To taste the free skies before I die, I would shine like snow in the cold winter air and fly, fly away with not a care…I would soar in the empty space away from the golden fields of summer and would know the heavenly grace hidden within the evanescent flower”…He remembered once more that he did not know the rest of the song and had often wanted to ask Jedarc for it. The song was attributed to El-Windiir, and it felt right to give him the credit, even if the Kingdom’s founder had never sung it.

I would have wished to know which flower this was…
he thought as he prepared to run. Oddly, the thought that this may be his last time to sing did not scare him. His folks fished sharks, and sometimes the fisherman became the quarry, taken to the depths of the sea by the fearsome beast. He knew he was going against a much more dangerous foe. A shark was not cruel—he was not a monster.
No,
he thought,
sharks are beautiful. Baal is a monster.

An eagle’s screech startled him. He looked up and saw the majestic bird soar lazily above him. A brisk, cold air blew through the canyon, and in that moment, standing alone on the cliff between heaven and earth, Ahiram felt an exhilaration that he had never experienced before. Suddenly, he understood the thrill El-Windiir had felt when, according to the legend, he flew for the first time from the stone slab where Ahiram was now standing.

The Silent backed into the corner where the two sides of the canyon met. It smelled of moss and jasmine. Ahead and above him, an arbitrator stood holding a line tied to the second rope Ahiram would use to cross the first bend of the canyon. The other end of the rope was tied to a pivoting platform set midway through the first arc and as soon as the Silent grabs the rope, a mechanism would be released that would slingshot the rope—and him with it—at dizzying speed into the air.

The Silent closed his eyes and concentrated. The rope swayed gently, eagerly awaiting his embrace.
Run like a lion sprinting toward its prey,
he thought. He waited until he felt relaxed and ready and then sprinted toward his target. He ignored the walls, the narrow ledge, and the canyon below. As he reached the end of the slab, he jumped straight ahead. The arbitrator let go of the strand just as Ahiram firmly grabbed the rope and began his flight into the curved canyon. As he disappeared from view, the crowd cheered and their cheers filled the valley with a mighty echo. Then, the mechanism holding the other end of the rope was released, and the Silent felt as though his arms were being ripped from his body. The canyon sides became a blur as he was pulled forward with his body in a position nearly parallel to the valley floor.

The walls of the canyon drew closer as he entered the first bend and in a split second, he saw a big boulder jutting from the opposite wall. With supreme effort, he managed to bring his knees up and the soles of his boots brushed against the rocks’ surface. There was no time to think or to ponder the vagaries of the Games; all he could do was to hold on to the rope.

He reached the end of the first bend and anxiously scanned the space ahead for the third rope. He located it just as his rope, having reached the end of its range, slackened. Ahiram released it and zipped through the air toward his quarry, feet first. He performed a half-flip and grabbed the end of the rope so quickly, that the assigned arbitrator did not manage to release the line holding the rope in place before Ahiram had pulled away. The arbitrator was yanked forward and he fell in a scream. Luckily, he was tied to a safety line that saved his life.
Hah. Failed to let go in time. No warm chicken for him tonight,
thought Ahiram as he entered the second arc of the serpentine canyon, his feet brushing against the opposite wall.

This time, Ahiram brought his knees to his chest. He heard the twang of the second mechanism, and once more, he was hurled through the air at an incredible speed. Despite having his feet curled up, he barely managed to avoid crashing into several small trees growing on the opposite side of the wall. As he reached the end of the turn, he glimpsed a gaping hole in the narrow wall where the canyon dead-ended.
That’s the cave
.
I’m going too fast. I need to slow down.
Instead, he was yanked back, for the range of the second rope was markedly shorter than that of the first one. Instantly, he let go and his momentum carried him—barely—to the end of the canyon where he managed to grab hold of shrubberies several feet below the entrance. He waited a short moment to catch his breath, then quickly climbed up to the cave. As he was about to enter, he remembered the additional danger lurking past the entrance of the grotto.
This flight made me forget Baal’s men,
he thought.
They may be waiting inside this cave to kill me.
He stayed motionless, preparing for the most dangerous move. Pebbles fell down the opposite side of the cliff. They bounced on a rock and fell to the valley floor. Ahiram looked up and saw someone back off hurriedly.
Arbitrators, most likely
.
They must be waiting for me to let go of the rope before allowing Hiyam’s team to come after me.