This experience was novel and he was not sure how to respond. Normally, the minds of his victims were as soft as fresh bread. He could tear into them with a flick of his fingers. The mind of the slave felt like a dead thing, like a thick lumber. It was not alive. The mistress had wanted him to take khoblysses along. He understood now why Sarand wanted him to work with the them. Closing his eyes, he breathed heavily and called on the full strength of the four creatures. If Ahiram’s mind was a city to conquer, his attack was a giant battering ram laced with enough curses to break the strongest of gates, the mightiest of walls. No one without the highest magical protection could resist him. The dull barrier met the attack and withstood it. Aliolos’ veins bulged with the strain, his heart raced, his flabby arms and legs shook, and still the slave’s barrier held strong. About to explode, the Kerta priest exhaled in a rasp and teetered forward.
“Something is wrong,” Dariöm said. This made no sense. Even he felt the power of Aliolos, and the slave could not have resisted this onslaught, certainly not in his weakened state.
Suddenly, the slave jerked, shifting the dark cover. Dariöm’s eyes widened. There, just outside the cover was a medallion, the medallion that was supposed to be encrusted in the slave’s arm. It lay on the ground. Unnerved, the moneyman stepped forward, knelt, and examined the medallion closely. It was his medallion. He grabbed it, heard a soft click, and only then noticed the thin, taut thread tied to the medallion that ran through a hole into the ground.
“It’s a trap,” he shouted.
A sound from outside reminded him of the buzzing of bees. Suddenly, darts flew in from every conceivable direction. Dariöm threw himself to the ground just as the incoming missiles battered Aliolos’ chest, throwing him off the wooden platform. Dariöm saw the khoblysses and the massrifuun contort with pain under the murderous hail. The tajèr jerked when the platform pivoted, and he tried to keep his balance, but instead fell and landed on straw in an underground room. In a daze, he saw the platform complete a full rotation and slam shut. The black cloth fell, exposing a wooden dummy tied to the platform. Aliolos had attacked that thing, he now understood, so where was the slave? Two fists of steel grabbed him and slammed him against the wall. Ahiram drove two curbed spikes into the bricks, pinning the tajèr’s wrists to the cold stone.
“You are a-alive,” the moneyman stammered. Ahiram grinned and placed a finger on his lips. He looked up, listening intently, but could not hear anything. “Do you really think your simple darts can stop the Arayatian creatures?” The question was dripping with unrestrained irony and sarcasm.
“Simple darts?” Ahiram retorted. “You disappoint me, Dariöm.” He grabbed a dart and carefully ran his thumb along its tip. “This is a simple dart.” He dipped it in a nearby jar. “Now, it’s no longer a simple dart,” he said as he drew closer to the tajèr. Dariöm recoiled instantly.
“What is this madness?” he asked breathless.
“A dart dipped in Arayatian water,” the Silent replied nonchalantly.
Dariöm inhaled sharply. He did not need the Silent’s explanation to know that this water was pure curses in liquid form, and that it would destroy whatever it touched, including the creatures of the Arayat themselves.
“Where did you acquire it?” the tajèr asked.
“I don’t you think you’re in any position to ask questions.”
“How did you resist the Kerta priest?” Dariöm could not help himself.
Ahiram scoffed and pointed to the dummy. “The simpleton was assaulting a piece of wood,” he said. “Serves him right.”
“But we saw you raise an arm. I saw the medallion—”
“Naturally. Being conceited and full of yourself, you saw what I wanted you to see: the poor slave raising his right arm to blow up the rest of the ruin, and you became convinced I was lying helplessly before you. I visited the Kerta priest in Ezoi, pretending to be you. He did not recognize me, which told me it would be easy to fool him with a simple trick.”
The top cover exploded and the Kerta priest fell into the hall. His body was pierced with dozens of darts, but he was still able to move, thanks to Sarand’s intervention. She was secretly observing the action through Aliolos’ eyes and took full control of the Kerta priest as soon as the cursed darts pierced him. She knew he was fading fast, his soul being sucked by the Arayat. She raised her right hand and turned Aliolos into a concentrator to power her own magic, and she lashed against the Silent.
Her attack on Ahiram’s mind was vicious and terrifying. Dariöm was aghast. “Sarand, don’t—” he shrieked. Ahiram felt razor-sharp claws attempting to tear his mind apart.
“Taw!” he called to the Letter of Power.
And it answered.
The ball of pure energy he had created after he had swallowed the assin-laced drink Jinodus gave him earlier, the ball that nearly killed the four dwarfs, the one he had aimed at the Kerta priest, finally found its mark. It came in a great rush of wind, in a mighty thunderclap and swallowed Aliolos. A flash, cruel and unrelenting, blinded Sarand. She recoiled, jettisoning the link with Aliolos’ mind, but before she could completely free herself from the bind, she saw a fierce figure—a young man—in whose eyes raged a fiery storm. “I’ll be coming for you,” his voice thundered in her ears. “And you will not escape me!”
She waved her hand and the vision vanished. Exhausted, drenched in sweat, convulsing from the abrupt disconnection, she lay prostrate on the ground, suffering the aftermath of her botched attack. Her right hand began to shake uncontrollably. She held it firmly and repeated softly, “The princess died before the final blow, I saw it clearly in his head, she died before the final blow. The female Seer, the more dangerous of the two, yet lives!”
Dariöm moaned. He felt someone lift him up and his head began to throb while his arms and legs hurt as if someone were stretching him beyond limit. The tajèr moaned once more and blinked a few times. Dazed, he could not make sense of what he was seeing. The moneyman lifted his arm and rubbed his face and then noticed how swollen his hands were. A cold blast buffeted him, swaying him like a pendulum. He forced himself to focus on what he was seeing and realized he was flying upside down over the sea in the predawn light.
“Welcome back,” said a voice overhead. He craned his neck upward and saw Ahiram flying like a bird. Then he realized the Silent was holding him by his ankles, and the pain hit him harder. When he looked down, he noticed they were several hundred feet over water.
“The Kerta priest is dead,” Ahiram told him. “All the strange creatures are destroyed or dead or sent back to the Arayat.” Of course, the Silent did not share with Dariöm his own bit of luck. He did not know the sphere of light would materialize as it had when he was in the clutch of Sarand, unable to defend himself.
“Where are you taking me?” Dariöm asked.
“Where? Actually, nowhere,” Ahiram said. “I’m debating how high I should go before I drop you. I want your fall to break every bone of your body, but I don’t want to kill you. I want to damage the merchandise but not destroy it,’” he added sarcastically. “Would two thousand feet do? Hum … dilemma … maybe I should start with six hundred feet and take it from there.”
“Wha—”
Ahiram let go of the tajèr.
The terrifying speed of the fall surprised Dariöm. He did not think anything could fall that quickly. Unable to contain his fear, he screamed uncontrollably. He was not afraid of dying, but the deep darkness beneath the surface of the sea frightened him, for no one knew what lurked below, what creatures of the Arayat could be waiting to possess him, to take control of his soul and force him to live in eternal agony.
His scream became a shout of pain when his fall was abruptly halted. Every joint, tendon, ligament, and bone in his body rattled.
“Hum,” Ahiram said, “Six hundred feet may not be enough. Better try this from two thousand feet.”
“What do you want?” the tajèr croaked.
“If I have to tell you
, then you’re not ready to listen,” Ahiram said as he soared higher. The sun crested the horizon and its early rays shined bright on the rims of his wings.
“Please put me down,” Dariöm groaned. “I’ll do what you want.”
“Take the medallion out of my arm,” said the Silent.
“I cannot,” Dariöm protested. “It’s not that …”
“Oh, well, then—”
“No, wait!”
Ahiram dropped him.
This time the tajèr tumbled down uncontrollably, unable to tell what was up or what was down. He could not hear himself scream until Ahiram stopped his fall just as abruptly as before. This time around, the searing pain exploding through his body was unbearable.
“If I drop you a third time, pray I don’t catch you because this sort of pain will become permanent.”
Stop it, Ahiram. Stop it, don’t be a Sormoss.
Sheheluth stay out! I know what I’m doing.
You don’t have to do this. He’s afraid of the water you brought back from Metranos. Use that instead.
I lost it in the explosion. Leave me alone, Sheheluth. I know what to do.
Dariöm swallowed hard. “You need me,” he said. “If I die, you will lose your freedom.”
“Wrong,” Ahiram said matter-of-factly. “If you die, I’ll cut off my arm. I can function without it. It’s a sacrifice I’m prepared to make. Are you ready to die?”
“Fine. Put me down and I—”
“Take it out now!” Ahiram snarled. “My patience is running thin. This is the last time I ask you.” His voice had become steely. Dariöm sensed the absolute determination of the young man. He knew he was not lying.
“How do I know you won’t kill me?”
“You have my word as a Silent.”
“And that’s enough?”
“My word is binding. Now choose!”
Dariöm sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it, but on one condition: I want you to hear me out. There are some things you should know.”
“Why? So you can stick another medallion in my arm?”
Dariöm wanted to know how Ahiram had managed to resist the power of the medallion for so long. He remembered the sphere of power that had swallowed Aliolos. He could still see the look of surprise when fire fell over the Kerta priest and could still hear the silent scream of pain before the white flash of light blinded him. If he can conjure this kind of power, he can resist the medallion longer than most, he thought.
Unbeknownst to Dariöm, the Silent had discreetly removed the bracelet of curse-absorbers moments before they walked into the ruins.
“Tie my hands behind my back. Without my freedom of movement and my box of medallions, I cannot harm you. Besides, I am a moneyman. Perhaps we can arrive at a mutually agreeable solution.”
Ahiram thought about it for a moment. “Fine. We’ll talk. My way. Now remove the medallion.”
“Got a bowl of stew?”
Oriana jumped. The bowl she had in her lap tumbled to the ground, spilling its contents on the grass. Shadow sprung up and lapped it hungrily.
There you are, Sheheluth, Ahiram thought.
I told you, I’m not that dog, protested the voice in his head.
“Torros!” Oriana exclaimed upon seeing Ahiram standing behind her. “You startled me.”
“My apologies,” Ahiram said. “How have you been, Oriana?”
“Fine,” the young woman replied after a slight hesitation. “My sister, she was, you know, in the Arayat, she came back, and Lilith’s younger brother is back as well. Domnina’s father, he came with them, but he was too old, or too tired. He died in her arms. She was consoled knowing she could lay him to rest.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Listen, Torros, I am so sorry about … you know, well, about the plan with Ebaan and all. I don’t know what we were thinking. I guess we’ve all grown used to the, you know, the exchange between our world and the Arayat and we stopped thinking about it. A slave is just a slave, and … I am truly ashamed … My sister, when she found out we were trying to swap her for some innocent person, she got really mad. She’s not talking to me now,” she added in a weak smile. “I don’t know what to think. I really don’t know anymore.”
“You changed your mind, at least,” Ahiram said quietly. “That’s a start, and eventually your sister will come to see that. I’ll share this with you: the best of intentions are evil if they justify one evil act, no matter how small it is. That’s what my commander used to say. I guess I’m telling you this because I needed to be reminded of this truth as well. Anyway, you did what you did, but here we are, and I’m somehow better for it, so no harm’s done. Tell me, what of Jin? Is she well?” Oriana’s eyes became watery and Ahiram grew worried. “Is Jin dead?”
“Oh no, that’s not it. Her friend didn’t come back … her friend was lost in the Arayat. She will become a myrith, a screamcurse.”
Ahiram did not know what a myrith was, but that would have to wait. “Where is Jin now?”
“We don’t know. No one has seen her since the day before yesterday.”
“Do you have something of hers? A garment?”
Oriana went into one of the wagons and came back with a sweater. Ahiram thanked her. The sweater slipped from his fingers to the ground. “Ah, clumsy me,” he said, picking it up. He then approached Shadow and said, “Find Jin, Shadow, find her.”
Hey, protested the voice in his head, I’m not a dog.
For once, let me talk to the dog like normal people do, will you?
Silence.
“Find Jin, Shadow, find her,” he repeated. The animal’s eyes locked on Ahiram and on the bundled garment in the Silent’s hand. Ahiram brought his hand closer to the dog’s snout. The animal sniffed it.
“That’s it, Shadow. Where is Jin? Find Jin, find her.”
You’re as much of a dog lover as a tree being peed on by a dog. You’ve no idea how to talk to dogs.
Why don’t you do me the honor then?
Ahiram thought he heard a snort in his head. Shadow stood up and began sniffing the ground in slow but ever widening circles. Then he stopped, his front left paw raised, his tail wagging frantically. He looked at Ahiram, barked twice, and took off running.
“I think he found Jin’s trail. I’ll bring her back,” he said as he sprinted away behind the dog.
“But the stew, it’s warm.”
“Save me a bowl or two,” yelled Ahiram. “I’ll be back soon.”
Did you say something to Shadow? How come he took off? Ahiram asked.
I told him to find Jin.
But that’s what I told him.
It’s the love that counts.
Was I supposed to purr like a cat?
You’re hopeless.
Maybe. But I’m the one running after the dog, while you’re a thought stuck in my head. Who’s hopeless now?
He and Shadow ran for most of the day. The dog had adopted a comfortable rhythm, and Ahiram was content with the opportunity to run. He had not done so since the Games of the Mines, and he missed long, solitary jogs. The forest was sparse with plenty of space between trees and underbrush, so there were no serious obstacles. Shadow’s ability to find the easiest path was uncanny. He would reach a dense cluster of trees and dive into a hidden passage that would take them to the other side with relative ease. Only twice did they have to slow down: once, to cross a maze of giant bougainvillea bushes whose spiky thorns glistened abnormally in the noon light, and a second time when they had to wade carefully through a field where sharp white thorns grew on the back of a serpentine vine as thick as a fist. As the sun began its daily westerly dip, the terrain began to climb steadily toward a line of rocky rolling hills. Ahiram finally spotted Jin making her way through a maze of tall bedrock in a shallow canyon. He did not have to guess where she was going, for she was moving northeast. There was nothing in these desolate parts of Mycene, nothing but Metranos, a long distance away.
Ahiram glanced at the dog lying do
wn, waiting for him to move. The Silent walked up to Shadow, petted him, scratched behind his left ear as he had seen the shepherds do, and casually ran his blade through the thick animal’s neck.
“No matter what, no matter how, no matter when, at any hour of the day or night, wherever you are, and whomever you may be with, if you are not underestimated, if you are not dismissed, if you are not ignored; you are not in control of the situation. As a Silent, you must be someone to be seen and be soon forgotten.”
–Teaching of Commander Tanios, Master of the Silent.
Hey, protested the voice. That was uncalled for!
Ahiram inspected his sword Noraldeen closely, then he looked at Shadow. Instead of severing the head from the rest of the body, the sword had moved through the dog as if the dog was made of mist. A true shadow, thought Ahiram. As I suspected, you can see me through the eyes of this dog, can’t you, Sheheluth?
No, I can’t. I merely use the dog as a moving portal to see where you are.
Interesting. How can you read my thoughts?
I told you already, I can’t. If you had no magical artifacts on you, I wouldn’t be able to reach you. But because of your tile, your thoughts resonate loud and clear where I am, and I merely respond to you.
All of my thoughts? That would be embarrassing.
No, only those thoughts you direct at me.
I see. That’s one special place you’re in then.
No, it isn’t. You still don’t get it do you? No place can do this. It’s …
It’s what?
Never mind that for now. How did you figure out that this was not a normal dog?
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 31