Nexus Point (Meridian Series) (12 page)

       After an uncomfortable break, Paul
began to try and piece things together, more for his own sake than for that of
his questioner. Yes, that was it! He had the distinct feeling now that the man
was questioning him, not out of any sense of hospitality, or even to make
polite small talk. It was an interrogation. The realization put the man’s
strained humor into a new context for Paul, and those eyes, determined yet
patient, seemed to brand him with a warning. Yet he spoke, spilling out his
tale in a disjointed manner as he pieced the recollections together again in
his mind.

       “We were out in the desert,” he
said. “We were looking for something—the Ammonite, yes, that was it.” The man’s
eyes brightened a bit at the word, yet he waited, saying nothing as Paul
continued. “We came to Wadi Rumm… unintentionally I think… Yes, just by chance,
I suppose. It was very hot and we were looking for something there.
Nordhausen!” Paul suddenly remembered Robert, and wondered what he must be
doing now.

       “Norod-Hassen?” The man repeated
the name with his own heavily Arabic accent. “You were with another?”

       “Yes.” Paul went on quickly, and
haphazardly, not catching the incongruity at first. “It was all his plan, you
see—the Ammonite, the
Arabesque
, Wadi Rumm…”

       With each word the listener
nodded hungrily, taking the offerings like a man receiving food after a long
fast. He was clearly quite pleased to hear what his guest had to say. As Paul
pieced together more details, however, he began to wonder why the man would be
so interested in any of this. As far has he could discern, he had fallen into a
deep, underground sink hole, and was fortunate that it was a gathering point
for the waters of a subterranean stream.

       “Thank god for the river,” he
breathed. “You said it was unkind to me, but were it not for that water I would
be lost.”

       “Allah be praised,” said Jabr
with a reverent bow of his head. His dark eyes finally betrayed a glimmer of
real sentiment, and Paul had the feeling that this man wished him well. Yet why
the reserve of caution? What was he afraid of?

       “And your mission? Yes, I know
you are not wishing to speak of these things.” Jabr reached out and touched
Paul’s hand as he spoke, a gesture of understanding and acceptance.
“Mithaq,
the sacred oath, is beholden upon us all. Yet I yearn to hear the tale and know
the bravery of your heart, my friend. For the sake of honor, if nothing else.
Will you not unburden yourself? Clearly, your journey must end now, yes? Those
that come here have but a short time. Why hold close what you might just as
easily share with the other Walkers when we gather around the evening fire. We
wish you no ill—surely you must understand that, unless our hospitality has
somehow failed to please you. Tell me then, truly, and without fear: what do
you hope to accomplish? What is your mission? What tiding do you carry? You
bore no scroll. Was it lost in the fall?”

       Paul just stared at the man,
trying to make sense of what he was saying. “Mission? Well I suppose our
mission was spoiled the moment we came to Wadi Rumm. Nordhausen should have
known better than to try and pull off something like this. And I was a damn
fool to go along with it. It was that silly Ammonite!”

       “Norod-Hassen? He was  Kadi,
then? It was he who was responsible for the working of
Kuni–Qadar
and
the setting of time and place?”

       “I don’t understand what you
mean,” said Paul. He began to have the distinct impression that they were
talking at cross-purposes here.

       “Forgive me. My heart beats fast
to hear you speak, and the mind reaches for words that do not come.” Jabr gestured
to his heart and head as he explained himself. “I speak the Saxon tongue, yet
badly I fear. There are three ages of that tongue, and I was taken to a far
place, long ago, to learn the words of the third age. Why, I do not know, for
it is not a language spoken in this country, and few have ever heard it. We
listened to you while you dreamed the sleep of forgetting. You spoke out in a
strange tongue, and I was called, for it was said the words resembled those of
the Saxon lords. Imagine my surprise to hear you speak in the tongue I had
studied, using words of the third age! All thing have a purpose, it seems, and
my long years of study were not wasted. So I was honored to make this greeting,
and share these words with you. Still, my mind often returns home to rest in
the clarity of my own native tongue. The words of Islam are very powerful, my
friend. You should study with us now that you are here. I would be honored to
teach you. Yet, for now, I will do my best to walk the Saxon way with you. Let
me think…” He stroked his beard, clearly enthused to have struck some
meaningful rapport with his guest, and eager to have this exchange bear some
fruit.

       “Ah yes,” he returned to his
thought. “The working of
Kuni-Qadar.
It is our way of finding the heart
of things—how is it you say this? It is fate, destiny, the vision of the wise
who see what must be accomplished, and set the path for those who must walk. I
was a Walker once. I have seen the seventh gate and passed through to seek the
pathway whispered by my Kadi.” He seemed quite proud to share this. “You
understand?”

       Paul scratched his head, trying
to sort through the man’s words and make sense of them. The odd incongruities
in their conversation slowly began to gather like a rift of clouds on the
horizon, a quiet distress in the background of his thinking. What was he
saying? What was all this talk of fate and walkers and pathways? Clearly this
was no simple Bedouin hiding away in the sanctuary of Wadi Rumm. And what did
he mean earlier with all that business about the Saxon tongue?

       “I’m… I’m afraid this is all a
bit confusing for me. You say I have been here for three days?”

       “As I count them, yes, that is
so. On the first day you dreamed, and we bathed you in sweet water and graced
your body with scented oil. You were a very deep sleeper, my friend. Yet on the
second day you spoke in your dream, and we believed you sought the wisdom of
your
Shaykh
—your sleep guide, who had come to call you home. Still, you
wandered, and we became concerned. The vibration of the fall can be very
profound in this place, and I speak as one who knows these things with his own
heart.” He nodded gravely, eyes wide as he spoke.

        “On the third day we decided to
send you Samirah, and relied on the skill of her hands and the softness of her
flesh to call you back again. Allah be praised, the long, quiet hours with her
were enough to convince you, and you awoke seven hours ago—if only for a brief
time. It was enough to share the elixir we have used to settle ourselves. Do
you not do this as well? It seems to have worked a great benefit upon you. You
rested in the arms of Samirah, and in the peace of Allah, until you made your
final awakening moments ago. I have been watching you as
Mukasir
—the one
who greets the unbeliever and welcomes him to seek another path. Forgive me if
I make the assumption that you are not a follower of Islam.”

       “Islam? Well… No, I don’t
suppose I am, but—“

       “Then it is my hope that you
will place your trust in me, and that we may be friends. For you are here now,
and time is very short. You do understand that, yes?”

       Paul would get half way up the
garden path with the man, and then loose his way as he neared the gate. “I’m
very sorry,” he said. “Perhaps it was the fall, as you suggest. Three days?
What could Nordhausen be thinking? Poor man. If he found his way to the cleft
in the rock and saw the deep sink there—why, he probably thinks I fell to my
death.” That thought sent him on another tangent. “Did you hear anyone call out
from above?”

       “Did we hear? I’m afraid that
none may approach the Well. It is not for those who are settled. It would bring
the madness, yes? We wait, and the river brings us messengers from time to
time. We thought you were such a man, until we saw you. No Westerner has ever
come to us this way.” He smiled with that, a genuine smile this time, bereft of
the pretense that had colored his remarks earlier. It was as if he was sharing
a private joke with Paul, but one that made no impression on him.

        “In fact,” Jabr explained, “we expected
you—at least we expected
someone
to brave the stream at the setting of
the last moon. You were a bit untimely, and perhaps that is why you were so
distressed by the fall.”

       “You expected me? You mean to
say you were waiting for someone here?”

       “It was written,” said Jabr. “As
much as anything can be written, I suppose. My Kadi told me to be very vigilant
on this night at the setting of the moon. I took my prayers on the uppermost
battlement, and then came down to the deep places here where we wait. Allah be
praised—you were sent to us as it was foretold. Yet, we do not think you are
the man we expected. We have much to talk about, my friend. We have so much
more to share with one another.”

       Paul passed his hand over his
eyes, as if trying to rub away the confusion and bewilderment. Jabr smiled, and
touched his knee with a gesture of displacement.

       “Forgive me,” he said with
genuine concern. “You are still gathering yourself. I know what this feels
like. I will let you rest a moment, and then Samirah will return with
nourishment. Tonight you will dine with her, and she will pamper you so that
you can truly believe that all is well and you are whole again. Tomorrow, we
will meet after morning prayer and speak once more. My Kadi will wish to see
you, but have no fear. He is a wise and generous man. He will be the judge of
things, and all will be well.”

       Jabr gave Paul a warm nod and
rose, stretching his legs a bit. “Enjoy the evening, Pa’ul Do-Rhalan. You have
been very gracious to speak with me. Peace be upon you.”        He bowed low,
and Paul returned his compliment, almost on instinct. “And on you,” he said
haltingly, as he watched Jabr recede into the shadows. There was a quiet
unlatching of a door at the back of the room, and he was gone.

       Paul settled into his bedding, unaware
of another set of eyes upon him as he rested. The Sami was watching from a
hidden spy hole, intent upon the newcomer. The Kadi will wish to meet with you,
he thought, but I will see him first. Yes, he may be wise and generous, but he
is also foolish, and easily deluded. Thankfully, another is set upon the watch
this night, the Sami of the Seventh Gate.

Part IV

The Assassins

“Paradise lies
in the shadow of swords”

- Ismaili
Saying

10

The Kadi bowed low
, completing his morning
prayer and releasing that tenuous yet vital hold on the thin spiritual line
that reached out across the globe to holy Mecca.  The
qibla
, an 
invisible line of direction that connected him to the very center of Islam, was
a sacred meridian of the faithful, as sure and reliable as the lines that
navigators used to navigate the oceans on their journeys. He took hold of that
line five times each day, and this time he paused to visualize the great
black-draped shine of the
Ka’ba
in his mind, and remember the holy black
stone within that his lips had touched on during the last pilgrimage of the
Hadj
.
The stone, it was said, fell from the heavens, a gift from Allah.

       Now he sat with the sweet memories dancing
in his mind, the chanting masses swirling about the squat shape of the shrine
that had been built by the hand of Abraham himself. It was Jibra’el, the Angel
of heaven, who had given instruction on its making. How fortunate that he had
been able to fulfill his holy duty to visit that place as a young man. He was
blessed by Allah, and grateful that he had been able to make the journey before
the infirmities of age and time took hold of him. His experience of that moment
remained a central pillar in his own life, and helped him to remain one of the
rightly guided, true to the teachings of Islam.

       The morning chill fingered the hem of his
gown and he pulled it close, his mind drawn from the dream of the faithful to
the matter that was now at hand. The Kadi was uncertain in his heart when he
turned his thoughts to the man he would soon encounter. He was the third Walker
that had fallen through the Well of Souls to reach this place, all predicted by
the scrolls the Kadi had received from Egypt, all expected. Yet surely this was
not the man intended. By all accounts and appearances, he was an unbeliever!
How was it that an infidel should appear in their midst, and not the messenger
he had been led to expect?

        It was clear to him now that the Order was
behind this. Somehow, by some means, they had uncovered yet another of the cherished
hidden sanctuaries his people had long guarded. Perhaps the Sami was right to
argue with him. That thought shook the Kadi more than the cold morning wind of
the desert. If what the Sami said was true then the gateway in Wadi Rumm, the
Valley of the Moon, had been breached! The Well of Souls had been defiled, and
now an infidel was in their midst, or so it seemed. Was he an agent of the
Order sent to this very place to work some mischief as the Sami argued? Where
had he come from? Why was he here?