The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3)

by Michael Joseph Murano

  “Why? What happened, Captain?” Karadon asked, using a soothing, concerned voice.

  “What happened?” Arfaad repeated. His breathing was labored and his voice raspy. “Those people who were after you because of her,” he said while jerking his head toward Vily, “they’re not ready to give up. There are at least two sorcerers down in the plaza weaving their magic.” What magic that was, he did not explain. “My men are getting restless and there’s no telling what they will do if they suspect foul play. The Temple doesn’t tolerate magic, as you well know.” His eyes wavered and he turned to the door behind him. “My men would be justified in stopping such blatant acts of magic, and I won’t have solid grounds to restrain them. Best thing would be for you to leave Tirkalanzibar.”

  “But where would we go?” Karadon asked. “We’re waiting for our caravan and we can’t risk missing it.” The captain’s informal style had surprised him, but he responded in kind, not wanting to irk Arfaad.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” the captain replied. “I know … I mean, we know of a string of caves in the hills outside Tirka. They’re less than an hour away and quite comfortable. You’ll stay there until your caravan arrives, and you’ll join up with it when it leaves. The magic stops, my men are happy, and you’re all safe. Everybody wins.” His wide grin sent shivers down Hoda’s spine.

  “I suggest you gather your things and meet me at the grave … I mean, at the gate,” he corrected himself with haste. “I’ll have a few of my men escort you. We don’t want any further incidents, now do we?”

  He stomped out of the room without specifying who was to escort Hoda, Karadon, and Vily to the gate. The soldiers looked to Merial who nodded. He picked two other soldiers besides his singing partner.

  “We’ll do it,” he said. “We’ll take them to the gate.” He turned to Hoda and said as gently as he could, “We’d better follow the captain’s order.”

  “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Hoda,” Shrennoh added. “We’ll protect you.”

  You’ll protect us against the supposed magic from down below, but who will protect us against the captain? she wondered.

  She felt her husband’s hand on her shoulder and turned to look at him. He gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry,” he said squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We always do. We’re Black Robes.”

  She got up and gently prodded Vily to stand. The young girl took her hand and followed her without resistance. Outside, a cold wind was blowing long, bitter blasts, slapping the High Rider’s standards like an extortionist tormenting his victims, but it did not manage to extinguish the burning torches tucked in recessed alcoves. Night had fallen by now and the last rays of the setting sun bloodied the horizon with its silent scream. The noise from Tirka sounded like that of a dying beast breathing its last. As they drew closer to the gate, Karadon peeked into the plaza and saw two cloaked figures sitting on the ground inside an intricately painted circle surrounded by gray candles.

  “Hoda, look,” he whispered. She glanced down and nodded. “Perhaps the captain is only trying to protect us.”

  “I don’t trust him. No matter what, do not lower your guard,” she urged. He nodded and vanished inside the dark staircase ahead. El, protect us, Hoda prayed intently. She felt like an insect caught inside a web about to be consumed by a hidden spider.

  The soldiers led them to a carriage pulled by three horses. Hoda clenched her fists when she saw Arfaad nudge his steed forward. Why is he coming with us? she thought. There’s no reason for the captain to do this.

  Arfaad called to Merial, “Soldier, do you know the way to the refuge in the mountains?”

  “No, Sir, I do not.”

  “Do any of you here know?” Arfaad asked.

  The soldiers shook their heads.

  “Very well. I will lead this mission, then. Merial, you and your men will protect this carriage. Follow me now. There’s not much time to lose.”

  He waited for Hoda, Karadon, and Vily to take a seat inside the carriage before giving the signal. Merial, who was driving the carriage, flailed the horses’ reins and they sped up to a comfortable trot while the escorting soldiers closed the small convoy. Hoda, rocked by the steady movements of the carriage, closed her eyes and leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder.

  “Hoda, wake up,” Karadon whispered, shaking her gently. “We arrived.”

  Startled, she opened her eyes. “But we just left Tirkalanzibar.”

  “You slept the whole way. As far as I can tell, we’ve been riding for nearly an hour.”

  Hoda glanced at Vily sitting across from her. The young girl’s countenance was unchanged. She stared blankly at the panel behind them and uttered not a word. Hoda leaned over and hugged her tightly. “At least you’re not vanishing anymore,” she whispered. “I’m glad.” She pulled the heavy curtain aside and peered out. It was a moonless night and she could barely make out the outline of the countryside. An abrupt waft of a bitterly cold air lashed at her and she quickly dropped the curtain and settled back next to her husband.

  A short while later they heard someone giving orders. The thick curtain muffled the voices, and they could not quite make out what was said. Merial opened the door, and with a smile and a nod, told them to step out. Hoda grabbed Vily’s hand and the young girl followed her. Two of the soldiers lit a torch, and in the fluttering light they saw the beginnings of a dirt road snaking up the mountainside. It vanished into the darkness, which was now nearly complete.

  “We’re standing inside a steep canyon,” Karadon whispered.

  “Follow me,” Arfaad commanded. In the feeble light, he looked like a ghost. His skin was nearly white and his footsteps were so silent they thought he was floating. “We don’t have much to go,” he added, jerking his head sideways toward the mountain. “There’s a comfortable cave a short way up ahead.” He grabbed a torch from one of the soldiers and started walking. “Wait for me,” he called to his men, “and that’s an order.” The four men clapped their feet together and gave him a salute by placing their right fist on their heart.

  Hoda forced herself to walk. Every fiber of her being warned her to run away, but that meant leaving Vily behind, for the young girl would simply not be able to keep up with them. Karadon and Hoda knew how to disappear quickly in the middle of the night, and they would find their way back to the safety of the Black Robes’ camp. I won’t lose another child, thought the young woman. Not now, not ever.

  The wind howled from the depth of the canyon like a mad beast that the wiles of men had let loose. It slithered through thorn-filled bushes, slammed against indifferent millennial stones, and continued its sweep upward until it lunged on the climbers’ limbs and torches.

  “We’re almost there,” Arfaad said, glancing at them. The torch cast a deep shadow on the right side of his face, and it looked as though some beast had swallowed half of his head. The feverish hunger in his eyes, the tremor of his upper lip, and his gaze set on her like that of a snake before a helpless prey told Hoda all she needed to know. Arfaad had lost his mind, and they were not safe.

  She grabbed her husband’s hand and squeezed it twice, a preestablished signal alerting him that she was about to take matters into her own hands. He squeezed her hand in return and she knew that Karadon was ready as well.

  Ahead of them, Arfaad reached a wide stone staircase that had seen better days. Several steps had crumbled, requiring them to tread carefully. Abruptly, the staircase led to a large open space covered in stone slabs.

  “The cave is up ahead,” Arfaad said.

  As they drew close to the mountain face, they were greeted by two tall statues guarding an arched entrance. The left statue was that of an obese woman sitting on a throne covered with ivy. Time and the elements had worn out the etched climbing plant, but it was still recognizable. The statue’s face was pock-marked, and a piece of the left cheek was missing. The right statue was that of a tall woman standing in battle array, a sickle in her left hand and
a sword in the right.

  “That’s not a cave,” Karadon told his wife. “It’s a temple, a temple to Tiamat, the primordial goddess, mother of all the gods.”

  Hoda shivered inwardly. Why is he bringing us here?

  “This way,” the captain urged. “Quickly now, we haven’t all night.”

  The entrance led to a wide passage with an arched roof. Marble slabs had, in better days, covered the floor, but most of them had either been stolen or smashed away. Tufts of green grass grew here and there. The gentle incline of the floor became steeper and continued to slope down in a straight line until they reached a massive cavern carved into a hall. Arfaad walked over to the left side and dipped his torch into a hidden stone gully. Fire burst out, sped along the circular gully hugging the wall, and lit the large cave.

  Four frescoes covered the walls. The first one depicted an active volcano erupting with hot lava. The second displayed a waterfall flowing from a large cave. The third illustrated a field of wheat, and the fourth, a barren desert. Between each pair of consecutive frescoes stood a statue of a giant hunched, featureless man with his mouth agape and his hands tied in a supplicating knot of sorrow.

  Toward the back of the temple stood a massive marble altar. The single thick slab sat on four stone pillars whose honeycombed surface suggested they had been, at some point in the past, covered with precious stones. In front of the altar, a lone stalagmite rose from the ground to a height of four feet. Shaped like a lance, it had been reinforced with a steel mesh, which the passing of years had fused to the rock. This would have presumably served a sacrificial function that was now lost.

  Directly behind the altar, a statue of the goddess Tiamat rose from the ground, and arching upward, it overshadowed the sacrificial platform. Her hands, spread protectively over the marble slab, carried two blades, and her head was covered with slithering vipers. Four fangs shot out from her open mouth.

  “This is a major temple to the earth goddess,” Karadon said, stopping in his tracks. “This is very, very old.”

  “Indeed,” Arfaad confirmed. He rubbed his hands, seemingly to ward off the cold. “This is her temple, and as you can see, you will be comfortable here. No one will find you and in a few days you will be able to leave. There’s water and food in that crate over there. Let me show you.”

  “I didn’t notice it,” Karadon replied as he followed Arfaad.

  “Standard High Riders procedures. These crates are large enough to shelter four soldiers, and sturdy enough to be used as a temporary jail whenever necessary. They blend with their surroundings. The door is on the left side. Here, let me show you,” he repeated. “You’ll find everything you need inside; mattresses, blankets, water, and food.”

  Arfaad lifted the heavy beam barring the doors and opened them. He moved aside to let Karadon see, but Karadon stepped aside as if to make space for the captain. Arfaad grabbed him, and with surprising speed, tried to shove him inside the crate. Karadon gripped the edge of the container and thrust the captain back. The two men started fighting. Karadon pulled back and reached for his daggers, but Arfaad shook his arm, and an iron rod slid down into his hand. With a well-aimed throw, he knocked Karadon senseless.

  “Karadon!” Hoda threw two Black Robes’ daggers. The first sunk into her enemy’s right shoulder, and the second left a deep gash in his right thigh. He hit the ground hard, tumbled, and skidded. With a sneer that sickened the young woman, he managed to stand up. Hoda gritted her teeth and hit him with a third blade in the chest. The weapon’s force threw the captain back, and a fourth dagger nailed his left forearm to the back wall. Arfad’s head dropped and he went limp.

  Hoda ran to her husband. “Karadon! Karadon!” She slapped him. “Come on, wake up, wake up!”

  A strangled laugh answered her. She looked up and watched with horror as Arfaad glared at her. “Nothing,” he said, “I feel nothing at all.” He gripped the handle of the knife that was pinning him to the wall, and with a painful grunt, yanked it out to free his arm. He straightened his posture and walked toward her, the handle of the fourth blade still protruding from his chest. Hoda grabbed two bronze hairpins shaped like daggers and threw them at Arfaad. They struck the ground at his feet, and the stone slabs froze and shattered.

  “Nice,” Arfaad said. He continued to walk toward her. “A Stone Spell and a Spell of Confusion. You could immobilize a High Riders’ patrol with these and make them forget what they were doing. But as you can see, dear Hoda, no blood. I feel nothing.”

  Hoda got up and grabbed two more knives. Arfaad stopped, smiled, and raised his hands. “Go ahead, throw your blades. It won’t matter!” he yelled. “My body is almost gone, don’t you get it?” With a flick of his wrist, he threw the second rod. It slammed into Hoda’s forehead. She blacked out under the blow, and Arfaad caught her before she hit the ground.

  “Ah, I see you’ve come back to your senses,” Arfaad said.

  Hoda’s head was throbbing painfully. She opened her eyes and struggled to understand where she was. She raised her head slightly and saw the hideous face of the goddess glaring at her. She was tied down on the altar. She looked at Arfaad standing nearby with the knives still protruding from his body.

  “How … how could you—”

  “The vanishing can do strange things to you,” he added. “For starters, you don’t feel pain. Your body is numb. You become adept in magic in more ways than one.”

  “You’re vanishing?” she said. “But—”

  “I’m too old to vanish?” he replied in a dry chuckle. “The secrets they keep from you when you become a High Rider,” he added bitterly. “When I executed the ban against your village, when I ordered the killing of your people, I didn’t know there would be a price to pay. By the way, do you know what vanishing means? It’s a funny term they use, really. See, right now, your young friend over there is perfectly conscious of everything that’s going on.” In spite of her situation, Hoda opened her eyes wide and craned her neck to look at Vily. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? I bet she’s very tired, hungry, and certainly scared. I bet she’d like to scream and cry. She’s seeing everything, and she hears everything, but as if through a looking glass. Her life is being torn away from her limb by limb, and soon she’ll be wandering in the Vanishing Land searching for her body. Then, eventually, she’ll go crazy and then the Kerta priests will find her. Oh, where are my manners? Congratulations on your marriage. You’ve got a caring husband. ‘Husband,’ it sounds so strange.”

  “What will you do after you kill me?”

  “Do? I won’t do anything. I will be dead.”

  “So you won’t kill Karadon, then?”

  “Why would I do that? I’m no criminal.”

  “I don’t understand,” Hoda replied. “Why kill me if you’re going to die? That is senseless.”

  “Let me tell you about senseless. Through some trickery of the Adorant, I am bound body and soul to the Temple. As long as the Temple endures, I will go on living. I cannot die.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “So long as one does not execute a ban on a village somewhere, yes, one’s got a chance at dying. But after the ban, the high priestess sent me to Bragafâr. There I had to undergo further training at the hands of the Adorants. They told me this training would help me grow stronger, and for a while, I did. For a while I felt better, but soon enough, the nightmares began, and I could no longer sleep. Then the nightmares stopped—I don’t remember how or why anymore—and I started to vanish. When I completely vanish, I will go somewhere in the Arayat where my substance will feed the Temple for centuries. I won’t die. The Arayat will absorb me slowly until I become a wraith, a ghost to wander that accursed place forever. No, believe me, death is sweet compared to that horrible fate.”

  “But what does that have to do with me?” Hoda pleaded.

  “I had dreams about you that turned into nightmares. Eventually, I thought if I killed you the nightmares would stop, but they stopped on their own when
I began vanishing. Then I went and saw Cahloon, and she told me to bring you here and offer you as a sacrifice to Tiamat. She revealed the location of this temple and said when I offer you up, the goddess will personally appear and will reward me by killing me with a sword not made by human hands.”

  “Cahloon told you to offer me, Hoda, as a sacrifice?” Hoda was desperately trying to buy time. “She told you to offer Hoda, your Hoda as a sacrifice?”

  Arfaad walked around and inspected the ropes. He then stood in front of the altar and unsheathed a long dagger from his side. “Now, Hoda, look at this dagger. Never been used before. I will use it to kill you and will bury it with you. I thought you might appreciate the gesture.”

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, a young girl with blond hair materialized four feet above the altar. Nimbly, she landed next to a stunned Hoda.

  “The goddess, Tiamat,” Arfaad whispered in awe. “My Lady, here is my offering,” he added, raising his hand swiftly to strike Hoda. This left him vulnerable. Pivoting her weight, Aquilina delivered a powerful sidekick to the man’s exposed chest. With one swift movement, she cut the ropes binding Hoda’s right hand and handed her a dagger.

  “Meet me at Cahloon’s tent tomorrow before noon,” she whispered. “Don’t walk in, no matter what. Stay outside until I come and get you.”

  “Aquilina, what’s going on? How did you find me?”

  “A dog found you,” replied the young girl. “No time to explain. I have to go. Take good care of Vily. See you tomorrow.” And with that, she vanished from view.

  Hoda breathed a sigh of relief as she freed herself. She sat up on the altar and stared at Arfaad, speared by the stalagmite. At least she didn’t have to see that. When Aquilina kicked him, the murderer staggered back, lost his footing, and fell backward onto the spike, impaling himself. His dagger had skidded and stopped at Vily’s feet. He was still alive.