He leaned back against the tree trunk where he was sitting and continued observing the plain. After landing in Mycene, he managed to move unseen and unheard among the locals. Groves of fruit trees— mostly apples—lined this part of the coast. Ducks and rabbits were succulent with herbs and mushrooms, and fresh water from springs and farm wells was readily available. He scratched his chin. By now, his two-week-old beard shadowed his face. Following the custom of Mycenean shepherds, he wore a gray vest over baggy trousers, and a likewise gray turban covered his head. He knew the best way to reach the southern coast undetected was to blend in, to join one of the large herds as a shepherd. To do so, he needed them to believe he was a Mycenean, and to achieve that he had to study them, learn their mannerisms and customs, something his training as a Silent had well prepared him for.
A Silent’s discipline is a faithful friend never to be betrayed or abandoned, chapter three, verse one, Ahiram reminded himself as he quoted from the Book of Siril. O Silent, you were not vanquished in battle. Your defeat began when you rebelled against your discipline, Book of Lamentation, chapter five, verse five.
The day after he had landed in Mycene, Ahiram established a strict routine. He woke up shortly after the rising of the sun—even though he wished he could have slept more. A battery of hand-to-hand combat forms that included shooting his darts began his daily routine and was followed by practicing with the staff that concealed his sword. The staff was one and a half inches wider than the staffs he was used to carrying in Tanniin, but Noraldeen—the name he had given his sword at the end of the battle with the urkuun—was concealed inside the staff. The blade somehow affected the staff’s weight, for it felt as light as a feather.
If I’m going to be a shepherd, I had better know how to use this staff and use it well. Most shepherds in Mycene carried staffs of all sizes and were proficient at using them when attacked.
After his training regimen, Ahiram would eat, wash, and spend several hours at the edge of the orchard observing the shepherds of a very large flock that numbered over five thousand sheep. At noon he would retreat under the shade of the tree for a light meal and an afternoon nap. In Tanniin, sleeping during the day was frowned upon, but in Mycene, to spend all afternoon in the heat of the sun was a sign of madness.
“Observe, imitate, blend in,” Commander Tanios would repeat. “Do not judge, criticize, or complain. Every kingdom has its customs, its own traditions. You may not like them, but you will not change them. Follow them if you wish to be invisible.”
So Ahiram napped. He actually welcomed the rest. His battle with the urkuun and the death of Noraldeen had taken its toll on him, and the relentless barking during the night disrupted his sleep, so the two hours he spent napping were truly restorative. After his afternoon rest, he resumed his stroll beneath the trees, observing the shepherds of the particular herd he planned to join.
There were one hundred shepherds split into groups of ten. They manned the periphery of the herd, keeping the sheep from straying from the flock. They used a long flexible staff to lightly strike the hinds of the sheep and were assisted by two or three dogs, who were quick to nip an ankle if they felt a sheep was about to wander.
A second group of ten shepherds was on horseback in the middle of the herd. They kept in constant communication with the shepherds covering the perimeter. Ahiram quickly figured out that one short strident whistle started a conversation. One long whistle meant the herd was moving, and two long ones signaled a stop. A few more combinations were used to signal for food or water, alert of an injury, or a missing dog. He assumed that if they took him on, he would be joining the ranks of the shepherds walking along the edge of the herd, so he spent most of his time memorizing their mannerism, habits, and behavior.
Although each group of shepherds behaved somewhat differently, they had a common structure and routine. One shepherd led the other nine, and there was definitely a pecking order. Ahiram could not yet tell how the pecking order was formed, but it mattered little to him. Each group was in charge of a specific segment of the herd, about one hundred yards, he estimated, and neither the shepherds nor the dogs crossed this invisible moving boundary. These smaller groups were made of men and women, and the women in position of authority outnumbered the men.
Toward the back of the herd, a lone figure stood in the center of an opening. Instinctively, Ahiram knew this was the head shepherd. After observing the herd for a few days, he decided to stay close to this leader and learn everything he could about the person who would most likely decide whether he could join the herd or not. From this distance, he could not tell if he was dealing with a man or a woman, but the poise and the grace with which this person walked led him to believe the head shepherd was a woman. She carried a tall staff whose upper end was curved back like a ram’s horn. He saw the shepherds on horseback look to her frequently, but she did not whistle or even move, yet they reacted as if she had given them a signal. How this was done, he could not tell.
Trailing the herd, six wagons followed. Pulled by bulls, they were driven by the children of the shepherds.
Having familiarized himself with the life of the herd, Ahiram was now waiting for the right moment, the appropriate incident to join the shepherds. His story was in order: He was a traveler who could work for food and shelter, a proposition that shepherds would consider reasonable. He knew he could walk over and ask one of the shepherds directly, but he might not be able to overcome the natural suspicion folks had of strangers. There’s still time, he thought. They haven’t yet reached the southern edge of these orchards. If by then no occasion presents itself, I might consider asking them directly.
The wolf’s call sounded once more, far in the distance. But something caused Ahiram to tense and crouch. He then saw the predators and his hair stood on its end. A pack of wolves, twenty strong, were strolling silently beneath the trees. They were streaming out from the orchard and were followed by their leader, a beast of an animal, powerful, determined.
How cunning, thought Ahiram. They’ve kept a wolf in the far ranges to lull everyone into believing the pack was far away.
The leader grunted and the pack began to trot. They were fifty yards away from the herd, moving against the wind. Ahiram thought about alerting the shepherds, but then decided against it. If he shouted, the pack of wolves would hear him and might react unpredictably. Furthermore, the wind blowing in his direction would most likely muffle his voice, but, even if the shepherds heard his shouts of warning, would they trust him? They might want to know why he was at the edge of the forest observing them. They might think him a scout for bandits, or worse, a scout for a rival herd wishing to do them harm. Better to sit this one out and let the wolves have their fill of sheep, or dogs, he thought, feeling a little guilty.
Still as an owl, he continued to follow the movements of the wolf pack. The leader grunted softly, dispatching two scouts forward. Ahiram knew from earlier observations that the first shepherds protecting the herd were standing just to the left of the tree he was perched on. Fascinating, thought Ahiram, he’s going to distract the dogs. The two wolves bounded, leaving the cover of the trees. Peering through the branches, he glimpsed the two shadowy forms heading straight toward the herd before they vanished in the darkness. In the far distance, the same wolf he had heard earlier howled, igniting the frenzied response of every dog on the plain. These wolves are using human-like tactics. The ruckus the dogs produced prevented them from sensing the two lone wolves on approach. A shiver ran down Ahiram’s spine. Snap out of it, he chided himself. This must be a coincidence. There’s no way that wolf up on those hills could have known that the attack had started. A short moment later, the helpless bleating of hundreds of sheep filled the night. Ahiram also thought he heard the shepherds’ angry shouts. The wolf pack remained still. What are they waiting for? They’ve got the shepherds and the dogs distracted, why don’t they attack? The disquieting feeling that he was witnessing something unnatural returned. Stop it, Ahiram. You’ve
never dealt with wolves before. They’re not sharks, so what do you know about them? That thought reassured him somewhat. Let’s wait and see. He noticed he had been gripping his staff tightly, and so relaxed his hand. Breathe, and clear your mind. This is not your fight.
“As a Silent, you must always be a few steps ahead of your enemy,” Commander Tanios had often repeated. “Anticipate their next several moves to neutralize them at the opportune time.” Ahiram pictured the situation in his head. Two wolves are distracting the shepherds and their dogs. No, correction, the wolves are distracting the shepherds at the front of the herd. This thought struck him as odd at first, but he realized the reason for it. Of course, the wolves picked the weakest point. They are attacking the head of the herd, which means there are no shepherds and no dogs to their immediate right. The scouts will draw the dogs and the shepherds away, leaving the herd open to attack.
The leader of the pack grunted softly once more and four wolves left the pack, heading straight for the herd. Huh? Why did he do that? Maybe he’s sending them ahead of the rest of the pack. He waited in tense silence until he heard a great commotion: more panicked bleating and more shouting. Nearby, a wolf whimpered and the leader of the pack growled, silencing him. Why aren’t they attacking? This isn’t making any sense. He reviewed everyone’s position once more. Sheep in the middle of the plain. Shepherds and dogs protecting the edges. Six wolves are distracting the first group of ten shepherds on this side of the herd with their dogs. The other shepherds are guarding their position. Why aren’t they attacking now? What am I missing?
The behavior of the wolf pack struck him as senseless. In his estimation, the wolves had lost the element of surprise and had alerted the herd of their presence. Snatching a few sheep would now be more difficult. Maybe they’re just dumb animals, he thought. Maybe I’ve let my imagination take the better of me.
A series of torches dotted the night in the distance. The shepherds are preparing to fight the wolves with fire. The grass is dry all around though, they’d better be careful. He tensed, wondering what the wolves would do next. A lull occurred and no one seemed to move. The dogs quieted down and the bleating stopped. The lone wolf in the eastern ranges howled again. As if on cue, the pack leader growled. The remaining wolves leaped and the leader followed. Up ahead, the six wolves that the head of the pack had dispatched earlier howled loudly and ran back toward the forest, dragging behind them the dogs and a small group of shepherds. This is senseless. The scouts are leading the dogs back to the rest of the pack … no, wait. The pack is not headed toward the herd. Where are they going?
Nimbly, Ahiram jumped down from the apple tree and crept forward. He saw the rest of the pack running on a path parallel to the edge of the herd, staying in the shadows of the trees. If they’re not attacking the herd, where are they … His thought trailed off when he caught sight of the wagons behind the herd. He froze in horror, now that he understood the wolves’ purpose. They’re not going after the sheep. They’re going after the children! This degree of cunning struck him as unnatural. Ahiram reached into his bag and dropped the wings of meyroon on his shoulder. They slid down his back and he felt the familiar jolt between his shoulder blades. He leaped and took flight in the dark of the night.
“Wake up the master,” the tall creature whispered. He was one of the six Arayat-spawned creatures Dariöm had brought with him to Mycene. They were the Massrifuun, guardians of the tajéruun’s treasure and servants of Galliöm.
The clerk standing by the door bowed and quietly left the dark room. The six Massrifuun stood around a rectangular, twenty-foot table that held a replica of the Kingdom of Mycene with its hills, plains, forests, mountains, rivers, and beaches, all skillfully reproduced. A king carried by four slaves stood for Parithen, the capital. Figurines of tourists hailing from different parts of the world were positioned where each of the southern coastal cities lay, and the statues for the western cities were exquisite imitations of farmers, seamstresses, blacksmiths, and other artisan occupations found in this part of the kingdom. The statuette for the northernmost city of Endafos was that of a dark gray hooded figure leaning on a gnarly staff.
Above the table, thousands of brown medallions hung from a grid of thin silver lines. One of them, located over the northern Mycenean plains started to swivel slowly from left to right while a soft light pulsed intermittently on its surface.
Dariöm walked in. Deep wrinkles from the sleeping mask he had been wearing creased his cheeks and forehead. With his short, untidy hair and the creases on his face, he vaguely resembled a disheveled owl. But if the resemblance was comical, the humor was lost on the Massrifuun whose eyes could not see color or the finer details of a human face. Dariöm was a crafty tajèr who served as one of Galliöm’s right hand. He was pitiless, remorseless, and lived and breathed to see his and the tajéruun’s fortune grow. Galliöm had ordered him to capture Ahiram and to keep him bound in a deserted portion of the Arayat, where he, Galliöm, would find him and train him to become the money-men’s willing servant. With the Seer of Power on his side, Galliöm would then be ready for a frontal assault on the Temple. He would then install a puppet priest to do the tajéruun’s bidding.
“You have found him?”
“Yes. He is somewhere in the northern plains, about thirty miles from our current location.” The voice of the massref had a dreamy quality; it came as a soft whisper, a quiet, lulling wind.
Dariöm considered the swaying medallion. “Are you certain it’s him?”
“There is no certainty in the Arayat,” replied the creature who seemed to speak in the name of the six. “It is either him, or another wielder of magic who does not know how to shield his presence, or perhaps, a skilled magician wanting to be found.”
“It’s him alright,” Dariöm replied. “Two of you should come with me, while the rest stay here and watch. Something tells me this will not be the only medallion to light up over Mycene.”
“Dogs, dogs, O the wonders of dogs. We feed them, we care for them, and we put up with their barking, just so we can enjoy that fleeting moment when they look at us with those puppy eyes, as if we are the next best thing to a bone. With this kind of royal treatment, I'd rather be a dog than a slave.”
–Soliloquy of Zuzu the Hip, Jester at the Royal Court of Tanniin.
Things had gone from bad to worse for the shepherds. One of the torches had ignited a brush fire at the edge of the camp, and the flames spread quickly, threatening the entire herd. The dogs had managed to keep the sheep from running amok while the men were hard pressed to contain the fire. The wolf pack had slipped away unnoticed and was fast approaching the wagons. Ahiram, now airborne, crossed over the camp, circled back, and dove down at top speed. He unsheathed his sword and glided a mere two feet above the ground. He was bound for the wolves when the head shepherdess stepped from between the wagons into the clearing and, simultaneously, a young boy who had been hiding behind a nearby tree darted out and ran toward the caravan. Two wolves saw him and leaped. He won’t make it, thought Ahiram, the wolves will get to him first. Another boy jumped out from one of the wagons and yelled something, then both of them dropped to the ground covering their ears. What are they doing? wondered Ahiram. Just then, the head shepherdess slammed her staff on the ground, sending forth a circular wave of pressurized air in a loud boom. The fire was instantly snuffed out, and the wolves yelped as they were thrown into the air. Instinctively, Ahiram pulled back up but was slapped by a powerful blast of air that sent him tumbling like a leaf. His ears popped loudly and he felt dizzy. Losing his sense of direction, he couldn’t tell if he was falling or rising. He willed to stop and after a while managed to do so. He was now several thousand feet high. How did I get this high, this fast? His dizziness took a turn for the worse and he dropped. Seeing the forest’s canopy fast approaching, he managed to slow down in time to avoid crashing into the trees. He tumbled down a cherry tree and finally managed to grab hold of a branch with both hands, where he hung until
the ground below him stopped spinning. He pulled himself up, sat on the branch, removed his wings and stowed them back in his bag. Leaning against the tree, he took several deep breaths. What did the head shepherdess do? What happened there? He craned his head and glanced at the plain behind him. The fire is out. I guess she didn’t need my help after all.
He heard a faint whimper. He straightened his posture, his senses on alert. Still feeling queasy, Ahiram dropped to the ground and quickly walked toward the source of the sound. He stopped and listened once more. I must be really close. He heard the whimper again. It was a few feet behind him. He climbed a tree to gain a greater vantage point. There, in the clearing. I see them. A young child, and an older one who is injured. I better not scare them. He was about to jump when a dark shape entered the clearing. A wolf. This is not good. The animal growled, baring its teeth. The older boy moaned in fright while the little girl stood and faced the wolf with a raised knife.
“Don’t touch my brother,” she said, her voice coarser than Ahiram would have expected for a child her age.
“He won’t,” Ahiram landed next to them. Startled, she nearly dropped her knife. Her wounded brother recoiled. “I did not mean to frighten you, but I won’t let this wolf touch you.”
“I don’t need anyone’s help,” the girl snapped, “I can take care of this.”
“That’s a big wolf and you only have a small blade that doesn’t have a long reach. If the wolf attacks, a grown man would be injured.”
The boy’s eyes lost focus and he keeled over. Ahiram quickly lunged and caught him. That was careless of me, he thought as he gently laid the boy on the ground. I should have seen it earlier. “He’s lost too much blood,” he said, keeping his voice even.
The wolf attacked. Ahiram rose to his feet, pivoted his stance and was about to deliver a powerful sidekick when a dark mass tackled the wolf. What now? A wolf attacking another wolf? the Silent wondered.
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 15