Three Names of the Hidden God (2 page)

“
See this symbol?” said the head scribe to their group of birdcatchers and other fowl handlers, as they gathered near the entrance, “What do you make of it? What does it mean?”

“
A great hawk!” said someone from the crowd. “I’ve seen such in the royal cages, and caught many myself.”

“
No, surely it is a falcon! A fierce and noble creature of the air, appropriate to the god’s abode.”

“
An eagle! It is the ruler of the air, the greatest bird of all.”

“
But how can you tell?” Ruogo spoke up. “The image shows no wingspan, no grand tail. If anything, it looks like a simple northern field sparrow or a finch.”

Several other birdcatchers and vendors, older and more distinguished looking, glared at
him. “What kind of nonsense? Who would put a lowly bird’s image upon a great temple?”

“
I only suggest what I see,” Ruogo said, his brow furrowing in intensity.

The head scribe turned to him. “
It is useful what you say. We need to know if this is a simple or dangerous symbol, and whether its presence indicates that the entrance is not to be tampered with. The last thing our Qalif wants is to insult the Hidden God whose abode this must be.”

“
I understand, my lord.” Ruogo inclined his head in politeness to the scribe. “Then I might add that the bird is shown in profile, and its beak is neither overly long nor short, and its feet show three claws. Its tail is slim and medium-long, and there is no eye but a dot, which suggests a symbolic representation—it could be a number of ordinary birds, for no dramatic markings are emphasized. Maybe this is supposed to be a general image, that of any bird?”

In that moment there was a noisy commotion on the opposite side of the structure, where the entrance depicted a hand. Wh
atever the recommendations of the palmists and occult line readers had been, someone had attempted to open the sealed door, and now black thick smoke poured up into the heavens, for the insolent one had been struck by an unknown force and burned to ashes. There were screams of awe, servants and scribes scattering like rats, and the Qalif himself approached with his retinue of guards to observe the incident.

Ruogo and the bird specialists were forgotten, pushed aside by the flow of the crowd as all attention
was focused on the western wall.

“
Who dared to open the sacred door without my permission?” the Qalif cried. “No one is to touch anything, simply learn and then inform me!”

The scribe in charge of the palm readers came forward and then fell to lie flat be
fore the Qalif, in obeisance. “No one, oh great one, no one alive . . .” he muttered. “The insolent one has been struck by the Hidden God himself, it is no doubt—behold, his ashes alone remain!”

In that moment, two more explosions of smoke and brightness c
ame from the two remaining sides, north and south, with the entrances decorated by a serpent and the eye.

“
In the name of all the great gods of this world, cease and desist!” the Qalif cried, his voice cracking in outrage. “No one is to approach the entrances again until we learn what has been attempted!” And then he pointed his finger to the prostrate head scribe. “You! What exactly was done before the divine punishment came?”

“
My father, I can tell you exactly what came to pass,” said a bright young voice. And Ruogo recognized the intense noble-clad youth who carried a sword.

“
Ah! It is the Qali!” someone hissed.

But the youth stepped forward and removed his head covering. Long raven-black hair spilled around the shoulders and covered the sword and the bac
k, down to the youth’s ankles.

“
Not the Qali, but the young brash Qalia, the lord’s daughter!” retorted someone else in the crowd near Ruogo.

Ruogo stared in curiosity, for he had never seen a woman in the clothes of a man before, nor one with such fierce
manners or with such glorious long hair.

“
What are you doing here, Lealla, my child?” said the Qalif, his voice growing soft and befuddled—for he was a doting father.

“
The same thing all the rest of these people are doing,” she replied. “I am here to solve the mysteries of this ancient place.”

“
But—” the Qalif said. “This is no place for my daughter.”

In the bright sun the maiden suddenly inclined her head so that her mane of hair which caught and swallowed all light falling upon it, rained to the mud at th
eir feet. She remained bowed, heedless of its ends lying in the dirt.

“
My sweet lord, father,” she said. “My place is ever at your side.”

“
And what of Khoiram? Where is my son while his sister takes his place?” continued the Qalif with reproach which was quickly dissipating.

Lealla raised her face and swept her hair behind her and out of her way, while her eyes took on a living brightness. “
Khoiram walks in the gardens, deep in esoteric thought. But he will come to you soon enough with the true answer to this mystery. There is no other, and you know it. None can match the brightness of thought of your son.”

“
That remains to be seen . . .” the Qalif muttered. “Very well,” he continued. “Join me, my daughter, for I can use your fair company. But take care. This is a deceptive and dangerous place, and I will not have you fall into any harm. Therefore, touch nothing here without my consent!”

And then the Qalif returned his attention to the man wallowing in the dirt before him, the head scribe.

But the indomitable Qalia was not to be put aside. “As I was saying, my lord father,” the maiden continued, resuming her willful tone, “I can tell you exactly what happened. These fool overseers of your men gave the command to force open the doors all at once, so that men who were struck by the god had no time to exclaim, much less warn the others. They touched the doors near the sealed edges. I saw them all move to it, heedless of your own wise warning, and—”

“
How did you see them all,” Ruogo interrupted suddenly, “when they were all on different sides of this structure?”

The Qalia turned to him and there was icy cold in her expression, ice over anger. “
What?”

But Ruogo was undaunted. Wind swept tendrils of his equally dark hair into his face and he squinted against the sun,
but not against the sudden inexplicable hatred he saw in her expression.

“
You dare speak back to me, birdcatcher?”

Ruogo watched her and did not blink. “
With respect, I simply ask a reasonable question. How could you, standing only steps away from me, see what happened on the opposite side of these walls?”

“
It is not of your concern.” If her words could cut him, they would have used dull lingering blades to cause additional torment.

“
What?” the Qalif interrupted.

“
My lord . . .” On the muddy ground, the head scribe continued to grovel. “I can explain, in truth! I was ordered by—”

But in that peculiar moment Lealla, fierce daughter of the Qalif, drew steel, the cool blade hanging at her side. With one smooth motion it left the sheath and in a moment its tip w
as resting at the back of the scribe’s neck.

“
Silence!” she said, and the man on the ground stilled. “Do not befoul the air with your lies—for it will be lies that will come forth from you. And as far as this one—”

And then the Qalia stepped away and sheat
hed her sword, and suddenly Ruogo found himself facing two cool, intense eyes—and it seemed there was nothing in the world but those eyes, no face, no crowd, no heat of sun, nothing.

“
This one,” repeated Lealla, boring into him with inexplicable fury. “He is clever and has a smooth tongue but not enough judgment to keep him out of trouble. Well, what do you say now, birdcatcher?”

Ruogo looked down at the mud at his feet. “
Whatever I say now,” he replied quietly, “will be misconstrued.”

The bizarre tension w
as dispelled by the Qalif himself, his laughter.

“
Why pick on this poor youth, my dear child?” said the Qalif. “He did ask you a reasonable—as he insists—question. And now I too am curious. How came you to be aware of each of the different places at once, when walls separated you from them?”

The maiden blanched, but did not lose a moment in answering. “
As soon as the edges of the walls were cleared of mud, I had mirrors installed, my lord father. Knowing ahead that miracles might befall us, I wanted to witness all and miss nothing.”

“
Mirrors?”

She pointed to the corners of the structure where indeed something white blazed in the sun, a spot of reflected fire. “
Angled mirrors that show what is on the other side and around the corner. My own conceit, father. How do you think I can spy so well on my lazy serving maids?”

The Qalif
’s mouth parted in surprise. “But—how can you see anything from the distance? These mirrors are tiny.”

Lealla touched her right hand to her throat and brought out a tiny golden device on
a chain. “It is a magnifying lens of glass carved in such a manner that allows me to see from a distance. The same kind that your physicians use to look at tiny objects.”

“
Amazing!” the Qalif exclaimed. “You are a wonder, my daughter. If only my son had half of your wits and vision—”

Something terrible and bright settled in the Qalia
’s eyes at the mention of the son. She said nothing, only lowered her gaze.

“
Enough interruptions, then,” said the Qalif. “I want to know how to open those doors safely without incurring the wrath of the Hidden God.”

“
Forgive me for speaking one last time, my lord,” Ruogo said. “But from where we stand, there are only two mirrors, enough to show two other sides, not the very opposite third. In addition, even if equipped with a clever spying glass, it is impossible for one man or woman to see two things that are happening simultaneously in different places, much less three.”

The Qalif frowned. “
An excellent observation, young man,” he said. “You are clever.”

The Qalia was staring
at Ruogo with a look that intended to kill. But her father was quite taken with him, and he said, “Come forward, tell me, what is your name, birdcatcher? For, I see you are among their group.”

“
I am Ruogo,” he replied, with a deep bow.

“
Tell me, Ruogo,” the Qalif said, “What do you think of this door closest to us?”

Ruogo hesitated only a moment. “
I am not sure, my lord. But it seems this is a symbolic representation. The bird indicates either all birds in general, or it is a character symbol for something else. Something that your scribes might know better than any of us in the bird trade.”

This earned him some angry looks from the other birdcatchers.

In that moment, the Qalif’s daughter, who had been glancing around them peculiarly all this time, exclaimed, “Khoiram! My lord father, your son comes!”

Everyone turned to see a slender young man approach with a small retinue of bodyguards. He was elegant and dressed in silk, and his head was covered with a small turban. All of him shone in the sun, especially t
he fine gilded scabbard of his long sword. The lines of his face converged into beauty that was almost feminine, and he walked through the mud with an odd lightness, as though he was floating over it in the air—even his footwear appeared unstained.

“
Greetings, my father.” His voice carried on the wind, more virile than could be expected out of such a delicate frame. “After much pondering, I am here to solve the mystery for you and to open the gates of this temple.”

Lealla watched her brother with proud adul
ation.

The Qalif was somewhat less impressed. “
You’ve decided to join us, my son—good.” His words were guarded and there was no change in his expression.

The Qali stopped before his father and gave him an impeccable bow which by its perfection somehow mana
ged to be insulting. He straightened, saying, “Tell all your men to rise out of the mud and step fifty feet away from the temple. It is for their safety.”

The Qalif motioned to the prostrate head scribe and all the rest of them, including the guards, to ri
se and step back. “What will you do?” he asked his son.

Ruogo backed away with the rest of the crowd and watched in curiosity. The heat of the day beat down upon them, and there was a moment of expectant silence.

“Well?” the Qalif said.

The handsome Qali s
miled. “This,” he said. And with a flowing movement he drew his long sword and ran his father through with the blade.

The crowd screamed. For a moment there was shock, then panic; guards lunging forward too late, scribes and birdcatchers and snake charmers
and palm readers scattering in every direction. But the murderer son held his father in a last embrace, and as the older man’s lifeblood ran scarlet upon silk, spattered on the mud and their mingled clothing, the daughter of the Qalif drew her hands up and cried, “Silence! Fall back! No one dare lay hands upon the new Qalif of this realm!”