“That’s not a tent,” Amaréya whispered, “it’s a city all its own.”
“Or a nightmare,” Corintus replied with clenched teeth. He sighed. “All right then, let’s go say hello to Cahloon.”
Resolutely they stepped forward and disappeared inside Cahloon’s lair. Outside, the braying of camels reached a crescendo—as if the animals were bemoaning the fate of Aquilina’s parents.
“Walking is the worst thing you can do in Tirkalanzibar. A soldier in a military camp can at least step outside his tent, walk around, and return safely. But in Tirkalanzibar, the moment you take a step outside your tent, you must fend for yourself against those who wish to sell you as a slave and the cutthroats who might mistake you for another target. Tirkalanzibar is a battle zone of the worst kind.”
–Memoirs of Alkiniöm the Traveler
“What? … Where are we?” Corintus exclaimed after stepping inside Cahloon’s tent.
“How unexpected,” Amaréya added.
They were not inside a tent, but rather, were standing in a circular antechamber with marble floors and four onyx pedestals supporting columns of blue and pink marble. The ceiling, lit by a soft glow, was ornamented with floral paintings of amaranth and roses surrounding a pastoral scene where a group of chubby children frolicked by a pond.
“Good evening, madam and monsieur. What can I do for you?”
Directly across from where they stood, a large mahogany desk with four jade horns rested on top of a silver platform. An iron chair constructed from thick, long nails was strapped to the surface of the desk, and a skinny man sat on its back. His bare feet rested on the metallic arms, and his toes restlessly tapped the cold metal.
He removed a conical, yellow hat revealing a balding head and gave them a slight bow. The outline of a star was tattooed on his naked scalp. “Welcome to Cahloon’s realm,” he said in a soft, scruffy voice that led Corintus and Amaréya to instinctively clear their throats. “I am Cahloon’s butler.”
“Where are we? We walked into a tent, but …”
The man shook his head. “I take it, then, that this is your first visit to the realm, and you have come seeking an audience with Her Ladyship, is that not so?”
“You can say that,” Corintus replied.
The butler shook his head. “It matters not what I say, or not say. What matters is your answer. Are you seeking an audience with Her Ladyship?”
“Yes,” Amaréya replied. “We want to speak with Cahloon and yes, this is the first time we come here.”
Satisfied, he nodded. “Good answer, that. Go through the door to my right,” he said, pointing with stately poise to an arched entrance that stood to the right of his mahogany desk, “and wait for Her Ladyship’s gentle will.”
“Not before you tell us where we are,” Corintus insisted.
The butler shrugged his shoulders. “You are in Her Ladyship’s realm. Isn’t that obvious?”
“Is this the inside of the tent?” Corintus prodded.
“Tent?” the butler repeated, furrowing his forehead in an attempt to recall the meaning of a word that should have been familiar. “Ah, the tent, yes …” He spoke as if in a soliloquy. “I had nearly forgotten the tent.” He looked at them thoughtfully before continuing, “You may not like my answer, but I have only one to give: It is of no consequence whether we are in the tent or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“What matters is, if and when Her Ladyship will condescend to speak with you. Now, please, walk through this entrance and await your turn.”
Corintus peeked through the blood-red velvet drapes covering the entrance. He glimpsed several dozen rows of people sitting in plush chairs, apparently waiting their turn.
“There are hundreds of folks waiting inside,” he pointed out to the butler. “When do we get to speak with Cahloon?”
The butler shrugged his shoulders, “It is up to Her Ladyship’s whim. She might speak to you the moment you walk into the room, or you might wait for days, weeks, months, even years.”
“Years?” Amaréya said. “You must mean that in jest.”
“Madam, no one jests about time in the realm. I myself have been waiting for twenty-seven years to see Her Ladyship.”
“Twenty-seven?” Corintus articulated. “Did I hear right? Is that what you said? Did you say twenty-seven years?”
The butler nodded.
“But why?” Amaréya asked, “why?”
“I no longer remember,” he said softly. “I have been waiting for such a long, long time now, that I no longer remember when or why I sought Her Ladyship.”
Corintus shook his head. “Thank you for your help. We will be leaving now.”
The butler smiled wryly and did not reply. They turned around and gasped. The strange desk where the butler sat now faced them. They turned to their left, then to their right, and ended up facing the desk every time. The butler removed his conical hat, shined its sides with his sleeve, and carefully repositioned it on his bald head. “No one leaves the realm. You enter freely, but you leave when Her Ladyship says so. Now, please step into the room and wait your turn. Hopefully, it will be shorter than twenty-seven years.”
Aquilina woke in a start and abruptly sat up. She pushed away strands of her straight blond hair and looked frantically for Vily, but she was alone in the tent.
“No, no, no …” muttered the twelve-year-old. “I dozed off and Vily sneaked out.” Quickly, she slipped into a pair of sturdy leather boots, stepped outside, and tied her hair in a ponytail as she surveyed the surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of her friend. Lately she had been sleeping fully dressed. Just then, Hoda walked out of her tent holding Vily by the hand. Aquilina breathed a sigh of relief and ran toward them.
“Thank you, Miss Hoda,” she whispered. “I was afraid I lost her. Hi Vily.” Her friend did not react. She did not seem to hear her. Aquilina noticed that Vily’s eyes were paler than she had remembered. The girl gazed into the distance, lost and unaware of her surroundings. “What shall we do, Miss Hoda?”
Hoda squeezed the young girl’s shoulder. “Alina, you must be strong. I don’t know if there is anything that can be done. No one knows how to cure the vanishing. I’m sorry.”
Aquilina bit her lower lip and nodded looking at the young woman intently. “I understand,” she said quietly, “but as long as Vily is with us, I will look for a cure.”
“Alina,” replied Hoda, “we’ve talked about this. You mustn’t go … there. It’s too dangerous.”
Aquilina shook her head resolutely. “Either you find a cure, or I will. I shall not accept any other option.”
Hoda sighed just as Karadon came out of the tent and joined them. “Where are your parents, Alina?” he asked while fiddling with the buttons of his long sleeves. He was not accustomed to Finikian clothing. “We need to talk to them.”
Aquilina nodded and strode purposefully toward her parents’ tent. They followed her.
“I swear,” Karadon mumbled, “she’s twelve and ready to lead an army. Imagine what she’ll do when she’s twenty-four.” He shuddered.
“What?” Hoda asked. “What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, nothing, I was just imagining her husband. I mean if she’s like that, he’s got to at least match her. And the two together …” He brought his hands together and silently mouthed, “Boom!”
“They’re not here,” Aquilina said, coming out of her parent’s tent. “They’re gone.”
“Gone to see Cahloon,” a burly man said. He had a pockmarked face and a prominent nose missing a chunk from its left nostril.
“Thank you, sir,” Hoda replied, backing away hastily. Nausea gripped her once more. She clenched her stomach and breathed deeply. I’ve been feeling sick for the past six weeks, she thought. I hope I’m not vanishing too.
“Trust me,” the stranger insisted, “I wealthy. Have plenty of slaves. I own gold. No steal people.” He looked at Aquilina. “Love children,” he added wistfully. “Two
daughters, grown up. Miss them. I offer help.”
Karadon eyed him. “Who are you, and why do you want to help us?”
“Mindhal, from mummy’s caravan,” he said, bowing. He flashed a smile. Every other tooth was tattooed with a stylized eye. “Vanishing, yes?” he added in a whisper, glancing at Vily. He was neither gleeful nor sad. “Client pay good money for lock of her hair. You shave her head and sell hair to me and make small fortune.”
Hoda placed a calming hand on Aquilina’s shoulder, fearful the young girl might take an impromptu lethal action.
“You want to buy her hair?” Karadon asked confused. “Why?”
“Cut hair of vanishing girl doesn’t vanish,” he replied. “Has amazing properties. Does wonders. Come close. No like speaking in public.”
Carefully, they walked to the edge of their camp and stood a few feet away from the stranger.
“How do you know she’s vanishing?” Aquilina’s big black eyes were fixed on him.
He looked back at her and smiled. “Beautiful eyes, don’t worry, I show you. Nothing dangerous. Need one strand of hair. Come and see.”
“We must be on our way,” Hoda said. “We need to meet with the young girl’s parents.”
He raised a surprised eyebrow, “But went to Cahloon. Tent cursed since morning. Get in, no way out.”
“What?” Hoda said. “What do you mean?”
“Come, come,” he said looking around, “No good place to talk. Talk in my tent. Come, come, I explain.”
Hoda and Karadon looked at each other and decided to follow him. After a slight hesitation, Aquilina followed them. Mindhal led the group to his camp and then into an expansive white tent. Inside, three male slaves were preparing a meal while two women sat on stools, idly chatting. They all bowed when he walked in. He led his guests into an adjoining room and offered them to sit on low stools around a bronze coal-burner.
“Coffee?” he offered.
“What’s that?” Aquilina asked, settling comfortably next to Vily.
“Elixir of gods,” Mindhal replied triumphantly. “Grows in high places. Desert Legions perfected roasting. Here, smell.” He presented them with a small pot of the dark steaming liquid.
Aquilina wrinkled her nose. “Smells like dirt mixed with sour grapes.”
Mindhal burst into laughter. “Like spirit.” He then addressed Hoda: “Buy her as daughter if you sell,” he said pointing at Aquilina. “Give you little girl mummy for her and for hair of vanishing one. If you sell man, I buy too. Good strong one.”
Hoda smiled. “I might want to learn more about coffee,” she said, diverting the conversation back to friendlier terms. “You also said something about Cahloon—”
“Cahloon, yes. Tent which is no tent. Inside, no more in Tirka,” he said pointing with both hands to the dirt between his feet. “Some place else,” he added without elaborating. “Tricky place, that tent. Go in yes, but no go out until Cahloon says yes. Trickster, this Cahloon.”
“Who put that curse on the tent?” asked Karadon. “Cahloon?”
Mindhal nodded. “Yes. Protection. During night, woof!” he said dramatically. “Attack. Magical surge. Powerful. Scary. Snakes felt it. Cahloon sealed tent for protection. Get in, no get out.”
“Have you been there?” Hoda asked, “I mean inside her tent?”
Mindhal shifted his feet. “Long time ago, yes. Once. Never went back.”
Aquilina looked at him intently. “Fine. I will burn that tent and then we’ll see if no one gets out.”
Mindhal’s eyes widened in fear and he teetered backward. “Burn Cahloon … Child; Cahloon powerful like Temple, Cahloon. No one touch her. She—”
“She’ll learn who I am,” the twelve-year-old cut in. “I—”
“Forgive my niece’s behavior,” Hoda interrupted while squeezing Aquilina’s shoulder hard. “She says fanciful things as if she believes them, but you know children.” Aquilina struggled to free herself and was about to say something, when Hoda yanked her back and placed a hand over her mouth and whispered, “You are about to betray your parents. You must not tell him what you can do. Do you understand me?”
Immediately, Aquilina grew very still. She nodded quietly and glanced at Hoda. I understand, please forgive me. Hoda nodded in turn and let the young girl go.
“Please forgive me,” Aquilina said to Mindhal. “I spoke out of turn.”
“No, no, no,” he said, waving both hands so fast he could have stopped a swarm of agitated flies. “Good spirit, this one, yes?” he said to Karadon. “Good spirit.” He bent down, hands over knees. “Want to see something wonderful? Yes? Follow me. It’s about sister,” he added jutting his chin quickly toward Vily. He took them to a tent that stood in the center of his camp. It was larger than all the others tents combined, and was guarded by two dozen warriors carrying each two scimitars and dressed in loosely fitted clothing the colors of desert dunes. The garments fluttered in the wind like flags on poles turning each guard into a dizzying, dreadful figure, and the dread was further enhanced by masks that hid their features behind mummified faces. Mindhal lifted a thick curtain and ushered his guests in.
“Don’t fear saradunes,” he said pointing at the guards. “Mighty warriors, but you with me. You safe.”
A waft of freezing mist hit them as soon as they stepped inside the tent, and when Mindhal released the curtain, they found themselves immersed in a thick fog. A string of lanterns on each side of a wide passage cast a dim light on six rows of tall open shelves, three to their right and three to their left. Standing in the middle alley between the shelves, they could not see the end of the tent, as if the fog had swallowed it up. The lanterns cast no shadows, for the white vapor moved like the waves of the sea, revealing and hiding the contents of the perfectly silent tent. The lack of familiar sounds—or any noise— was nearly as oppressive as the dull whitish darkness.
“Impressive,” Karadon whispered. “This tent is as cold as a winter storm even though Tirka’s starting to heat up under a very hot sun.”
“How do you do that?” Hoda asked. “I mean the fog.”
“Oh, cool air, yes? See big urns at back of tent?” Mindhal pointed to the left side of the tent.
“Now that you say it,” Karadon said, “yes, I do.”
Large gray urns stood along the edge of the tent, and cold air streamed outward from a dozen holes drilled into the clay necks.
“Frozen urns,” Mindhal explained. “Contain very, very cold mixture that fabricates cold air.”
“I see,” Hoda replied impressed. “What for?”
Now that she was past the initial surprise, Aquilina’s thirst for knowledge and her love of discovery took the better of her. She leaned over and looked closely at the nearest shelf to her left and jumped back.
“Aha,” Mindhal chuckled. “Found out what for, young one.”
“A mummy,” Aquilina whispered. “Her eyes are still open. She was looking at me.”
“Girl, ten years old. Bought her from parents. Vanishing too. When vanish, useless to parents. We took her, gave her warm drug, help die peacefully. Pay good money, parents are less sad. Good business,” he said grinning. “Good for parents, good for us, good for everyone.”
“Is this why you brought us here?” Karadon asked.
Mindhal shrugged his shoulders. “No offense, sister is about to vanish,” he said glancing at Vily.
“How do you know that?” Aquilina’s imperious tone surprised them.
“My business,” he said, flashing another unsettling smile as if each tooth was eyeing them. “Know vanishing when see one. Has only few hours left, that one.”
“She’s my sister,” Aquilina replied without batting an eye. “I don’t want her to vanish and leave.”
Mindhal bowed his head. “Apologies. My daughters are treasure. Their hearts beat, I breathe. Not disrespectful.”
“No offense taken,” Aquilina replied narrowing her eyes to a slit. “I just want to know how you know tha
t she has only a few hours.”
“Sure,” he said rubbing his hands. “follow me. I show you.”
They followed him deeper into the tent. Hoda shivered, for this part of the tent was markedly cooler. As they walked behind the strange man, their eyes, which were now accustomed to the dim light, could make out the contents on the shelves: frogs, bats, rats, cats, scarabs, lizards, scorpions, and snakes. All dead. All frozen. But there was an equal number of bodies, dead people, frozen, all displayed on the wooden shelves. Their eyes were open. Hoda glanced at Aquilina, wondering if it made sense to bring a twelve-year-old girl to such a ghastly place. But Aquilina’s face was as hard as flint. I’m surprised how collected she is, thought Hoda. I half expected her to attack Mindhal when he told us he had bought that poor little girl.
“This way,” said Mindhal, inviting them to join him inside a smaller tent. “Warmer here than rest of tent,” he explained. “More light also. Better for demonstration.”
They walked in and he dropped the heavy curtain that shut out the cold air from the rest of the tent. He lit a lantern and slid its handle into a hook dangling from the center of the tent. They stood around a high table covered with a red velvet cloth. Mindhal bent down, grabbed something from under the cloth and set it on the table before them. It was a circular cage made of steel mesh. A cobra was curled up in the center. Deftly, he opened the cage and grabbed it. It hissed but could neither bite nor escape his tight grip.
“Need one strand of sister’s hair,” he repeated.
“You could have one of mine,” Aquilina offered, before Hoda could do anything to stop her.
Mindhal shook his head. “Won’t do. You not vanishing. You want proof of vanishing, yes? I need one strand of sister’s hair.”
“Look here, Mr. Mindhal,” said Hoda, “I have heard too many stories of curses created with locks of hair to—”
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 3