The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3)

by Michael Joseph Murano

  “Don’t use your artifacts,” she said. “We don’t want to be noticed.”

  “Why are you nervous? What’s the matter? Sowasian assassins?”

  She shook her head distractedly while scanning the nearby woods.

  Ahiram shrugged his shoulders and started walking. After a short distance, they reached the farmhouse where, according to Syreen’s direction, he would find a horse. He knocked at the door, discretely at first, then more forcefully when no one answered. He was about to leave when someone asked in a hushed and nervous voice. “Who is it?”

  “I need to see Adman,” Ahiram was following Syreen’s instructions.

  “Who sent you?”

  “Shama. I’m here for the black horse.”

  “One moment.”

  There was a rattling of chains and the door opened. A head—with more white hair than elderly folks in Metranos—jutted out, looked to the left, looked to the right, and then glared at them. Stepping aside, a man bid them to come in. They walked inside a living room with a dirt floor and a crackling chimney. Three tall mesh bags leaned against the wall, with the one closest to the chimney open.

  Apples? Ahiram thought as he glanced into the bag’s contents, why does this man need three bags of apples?

  Adman quickly barred the door behind them. Aside from his thick white hair, he was short and stocky, closer to a dwarf than to a man. “Follow me,” he said, as he lead them inside a well-kept barn where they found a stately black stallion that observed their every move with keen eyes. An empty golden bucket lay sideways at the his feet.

  The way he’s looking at me, he reminds me of Shadow.

  Don’t insult me, Ahiram.

  I meant the dog, Sheheluth, not you.

  Adman gave Ahiram the reins and said, “Take good care of him. He’s truly a gem … of sorts.”

  “Thank you,” replied Ahiram, “I will”.

  “Why the hesitation?” Sheheluth asked.

  Adman sighed. “You’ll find out soon enough. He’s already saddled and ready to go.” They walked back with the horse into the dining area toward the main door. “Wait,” Adman said, “you’ll need these.” He went back into the stable, picked up the golden basket, and filled it with fresh apples. “No matter what,” he said while handing the basket to Ahiram, “don’t lose this basket. You will live to regret it.”

  Ahiram glanced at Sheheluth. “That is very kind of you, but we’re in a hurry and we don’t need apples.”

  “They’re not for you,” Adman corrected. “They’re for the horse. Soon you’ll understand.”

  Reluctantly, Ahiram took the basket and saddled up. He helped Sheheluth sit behind him. Adman cracked the door open and peered in the darkness.

  “The road is clear, you go now.”

  Ahiram thanked him with a nod, and the black stallion stepped out of the stable. The Silent got the horse to trot away until they had put some distance between Byblos and them. When the moon hid behind dark clouds and he could barely see the road, he dismounted and walked beside the horse.

  “I need my strength,” Sheheluth said. “Can I stay on the horse?”

  He nodded, and they headed toward the mountains.

  Tawr finally came back to his senses. He rose with difficulty and rubbed his bruised chin and sore neck. “I was warned that this boy was dangerous,” he muttered. “I should have heeded the warning.” Slowly, he went down to his room and closed the door behind him. He went to a closet and opened it. It was empty with the exception of an Orb of Seeing that occupied the main shelf. Next to it was a small golden box. Tawr opened the box, which contained a white powder. He took some of the powder and sprinkled it on the orb. The orb shone with a translucent light, and soon after, the fuzzy image of Zarifa, first priestess of the Temple of Baal in Baalbek, appeared on the surface of the orb.

  “The boy is gone,” Tawr said.

  “You have done well to alert me,” Zarifa replied.

  “I work for you and you alone. I overheard High Riders spreading rumors about a young priest of Baal sent to infiltrate the Black Robes.”

  “Not surprising. Nebo wants that slave dead by any means. If the Black Robes think that Ahiram is a spy of Baal, they may kill him on sight. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Why do you want him alive? Had I known, I wouldn’t have alerted the soldiers.”

  “You didn’t know. Sharr doesn’t want him in jail at this time.”

  “Why didn’t he tell Nebo then? This confuses us, followers of Baal.”

  Zarifa smiled. “Misunderstandings between the various organizations of the Temple are the true mark of Baal. If we, humans, are governing the Temple, it will fail, but if it is the divine power of Baal, then no matter the confusion, the Temple will always prevail. You did well by me, Tawr, I won’t forget it.”

  “Does this mean then that you’ll send my daughter back to me?”

  “I assured you that your daughter would be returned to you once your obligations are fulfilled. You will be seeing her soon.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  Zarifa’s image faded away. Tawr closed the closet and sat on his bed, satisfied. “Baal is good. I lost Surata, but I shall see Analeeze again.”

  “I see,” Sharr said, “the Seer has managed to escape unaided by you. Most disturbing, Zarifa.”

  “There is no indication that the temple’s shield has been breached. I could ask the Kerta priest to launch an interrogation …”

  Zarifa spoke haltingly. Her image faded in an out on the orb of communication, for she could barely concentrate. Per Sharr’s instruction, she was supposed to facilitate Ahiram’s escape, but someone else managed to spirit the slave out of Baalbek without her knowledge, and now, the Temple had lost the slave’s trace. This was a severe blow to Baal, and she was solely responsible. She was convinced Sharr would ship her to the Arayat momentarily.

  “Did the guardians detect anything?” he asked.

  She shook her head vehemently. “Nothing at all. We don’t even know which path he took when he escaped.”

  “Most disturbing indeed,” said Sharr. “No need to involve the Kerta priest. Leave this matter to me and work diligently on containing Nebo’s wrath. He must not go to war; not yet, anyway.”

  “It shall be done.”

  “And Zarifa?”

  “Yes, Your Honor?” The first priestess of the temple of Baalbek cowed. She was frozen, unable to speak, terrified beyond words, for she was expecting that Sharr was about to condemn her to the Spell World.

  “Do not blame yourself, my daughter. You have done nothing wrong.”

  Zarifa bowed to the ground. “The Temple prevails,” she said.

  The communication orb went blank. Sharr turned to Kalibaal. “What do you make of the situation?”

  Kalibaal straightened his posture and faced his master. Sharr’s features were inscrutable as usual, and he looked like an old tired man, but Kalibaal knew better than to underestimate the high priest.

  “Bahiya turned Baalbek into a fortress. It is inconceivable that the Seer could have escaped without help.”

  “Whom do you suspect?”

  “Bahiya is in Tanniin and the Seer was captured a few days ago. I don’t see how she could have managed to cross the sea to help him escape. The Black Robes are no practitioners of magic, at least not the kind of high magic required to pull such a stunt. The only logical explanation is that Galliöm helped the Seer.”

  “Why? What does the master of the Tajéruun hope to gain?”

  “We want to reign in on the tajéruun’s excesses, and he knows it. He is fighting back.”

  “Naturally. If he can control the Seer, he would have a potent weapon at his disposal. What did our spy say?”

  “Galliöm wants the Seer to take the candelabrum so he can get to the Cup of Eleeje.”

  Sharr chuckled dryly. “Have you seen the small carving created by Sureï that we keep in the vault of forbidden magic?”

  “I have seen it,
though I confess I am not certain I remember it.”

  “The carving shows the three Merilians, and below them, the cup. Beneath the cup, the candelabrum. Do you still remember, from your days of training for the priesthood, the list of inscrutable objects?”

  Kalibaal nodded. “Of course. That’s the list of objects that Sureï could not curse: the Letters of Power, the Cup of Eleeje, the Merilian Medallions, the Seriathörist Candelabrum, the three Tessarian water-skins, Terragold, and Layaleen. Why do you ask?”

  “What do you know of the Lady of Eleeje?”

  Kalibaal pursed his lips. “Very little. The usual lore: Her name is Lorinelle. She was the stewardess of Tessarah and when Silbarâd the Fair fell. The tower vanished and Lorinelle was never seen again. Oreg teaches that the Lady of Eleeje has crossed the span of years and will one day manifest her power.”

  “Precisely,” Sharr said, “but then, why did a high priest like Oreg, who is usually so specific, chose these cryptic words: manifest her power? What is this power he speaks of?”

  Kalibaal stood and waited. He felt, as he usually did, unhinged and inadequate. Sharr’s depth of knowledge and sagacity astounded him, and he knew he was never going to be his master’s equal.

  “What if,” Sharr continued, “the Seer is the Lady’s power?”

  Kalibaal raised his head. “Huh? The Seer is the Lady’s power? But …”

  “Continue,” Sharr encouraged. “Finish your thought.”

  “We understand that the Lady of Eleeje fought the hordes of the Pit. If the Seer is the power Oreg speaks of, that would imply that she’s on the side of the Pit, but that does not make sense.”

  “Indeed. As with much that is related to the Seer. But don’t you find it surprising that the Seer has in his possession, as far as we know, one of the Merilians, the sword of El-Windiir, a Letter of Power, and now, the candelabrum? He might also acquire the cup. Five inscrutable objects, all related to this mysterious Lorinelle?”

  “But he also has the artifacts of El-Windiir, which are not on the list of inscrutable objects,” Kalibaal objected.

  “Indeed, they are not related to the Lady of Eleeje. But you are as familiar as I am with the poem El-Windiir dedicated to the Lady of Eleeje, “O Wisdom Standing by the River, O Beauty Beyond Compare?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the poem, he states that no one shall open what his love has sealed. I believe he was referring to the powerful curse that sealed his tomb and his artifacts with it. Somehow, these artifacts became a different form of slavery, yes? But not the sword. El-Windiir never mentions his sword in these terms, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “So you mean the Seer has found the artifacts and he is using them against the Lady’s wish?”

  Sharr nodded. “Which tells me she has not revealed herself to him. He may not even be aware of her existence. We might be able to exploit that to our advantage.”

  Kalibaal was not convinced. The evidence was tenuous and the line of logic seemed fantastical. “Regardless of the possible … involvement of the Lady of Eleeje, shouldn’t we focus all our efforts in capturing the Seer? If we subdue him and turn him into a priest of Baal, then what does it matter who supports him?”

  “We have tried, haven’t we?” Sharr said. “The béghôm failed, the urkuun failed. How does a slave, untrained in the magical realm, defeat two creatures of the Arayat? You see my point? This is the Stewardess of Tessarah we’re talking about. She has had years to plan and prepare. Look what happened in Baalbek. The Seer escaped from the Temple. How? We’re still searching for answers. No, Kalibaal, if I am right and the Lady of Eleeje is behind all this, then the battle ahead of us will be much harder than we initially suspected.”

  “But why would she be supporting the Pit? Why does she desire to open the Pit? This does not make any sense.”

  “Unless, of course, she has been serving the Lords of Chaos all along.”

  “But if this is so, then why not suppose that Oreg was also working for the Lords of Chaos, or Sureï for that matter? Once we start casting doubt on the annals of the Temple, we unravel our entire store of knowledge. Where there is no trust, chaos prevails.”

  “Astute observation, Kalibaal, but what other logical conclusions do we have? That the Seer has come across five of the inscrutable objects by chance? In this battle, as in every battle, people are more important than things. Powerful minds trump magic every time. He who controls the Seer controls the fate of the world, and so the Temple must control him.”

  Kalibaal did not know what to make of Sharr’s logic. He knew his master was a cold, calculated tyrant and a bloody murderer, but he knew also that he was logical. “Are you then convinced she is helping him?”

  “Let’s just say for now that I am convinced someone extremely powerful is helping him. He could not have escaped from the temple of Baalbek without a magical cover. To hide her newborn son from the Temple, Bahiya had managed to steel the Merilian from the temple. She could not have done it without recourse to high magic, magic she did not possess at the time. The slave may not know it, but someone mighty and powerful, lurking in the shadows, is helping him. We need to uncover who that is and dispose of them. Only then we will be able to capture and subdue the Seer, once and for all.”

  “Sarand believes there is a second Seer, a female, who is more powerful and dangerous than the male Seer. She might be the one helping him.”

  “And I commend Sarand on her belief. I will not interfere and will not stop her exploration. But the Temple has witnessed the rise of two seers already, and both were males. The Temple has successfully neutralized them both. Interestingly, neither of them had the inscrutable objects that this Seer possesses.”

  “Which raises the point: if the Lady of Eleeje is helping this Seer, why didn’t she help the preceding two?”

  “Who says she didn’t? There is much we don’t know, but regardless of what we know and what we don’t know, it shall not be said that the Temple failed to protect the world from the scourge of the Seer under my watch. We stay the course until Sarand can substantiate her claim.”

  “What do you command, my Master?”

  “Do I have a choice?” answered Sharr in a sad, resigned voice. “Do you have a choice? The Béghôm failed, the urkuun failed. We have lost his trace and he’s getting better at concealing his presence. What choice we do we have but to unleash the kôhrosh.”

  “The kôhrosh?” stammered Kalibaal. “But we can’t control it.”

  “Leave that worry to me. The kôhrosh is a creature of the Arayat. It will bring the Seer to its lair in the Spell World. Once the Seer is a prisoner of the Arayat, we will sit and observe. If the Lady of Eleeje is behind all this, she will have to show her hand. We will know then.”

  Shaken and confused, Kalibaal nodded. “Anything else, Master?”

  “Yes, there is the matter of the renegade tajèr, Ibromaliöm.”

  “He has managed to elude our men in Kartagenon. We do not know his current whereabouts.”

  “No need for his physical whereabouts, we can always find him in the Arayat. If, as I suspect, the Lady of Eleeje is behind all this …”

  “Forgive my boldness, High Priest Sharr,” Kalibaal interrupted, “but why can’t we assume that Galliöm is the one behind all this? He has the will, the wits, and the resources to do it. Doesn’t he?”

  “He does, he does. Your hypothesis would agree with mine if it weren’t for the Ithyl Shimea. That’s an accursed book that serves only one purpose: the destruction of the present order, a destruction in which the tajéruun stand to lose their fortune. Everything. Where others see four parties at play here I see three: The Lady of Eleeje, the tajéruun, and us. Lorinelle must have managed to give Ibromaliöm this accursed book.”

  “She managed to …” Kalibaal fell speechless. His mind could hardly process what he was hearing. “But … but … no one can give that book unless they are —”

  “A Lord of the Deep, precisely,” Sharr replied grimly
.

  The enormity of Sharr’s words hit Kalibaal like a fist. “Lorinelle, the Lady of Eleeje is a Lord of the Pit? But then, the cover that seals the Pit …”

  “Has begun to break down, indeed,” said Sharr as he gazed at Kalibaal. “Dark, dark will be our days, my friend, and filled with terrifying sorrow. Our mission is urgent. There is not time to lose.”

  Kalibaal bowed. “It shall be done as you have commanded,” he said. “I shall oversee the release of the kôhrosh.”

  Alone again, Sharr wiped his forehead and retired to his apartments. Deep in the sanctuary of the Temple, the statue of Baal glittered sullenly.

  The seven men were back in the Room of Meeting underneath the temple to the unknown god. They were contemplating the empty crate with satisfied grins.

  “He did come,” said Silvaniöm.

  “He came indeed,” replied Dariöm.

  “And now,” continued Galliöm, “we have to bide our time. The Seer of Chaos holds the Seriathörist Candelabrum and thus will be inexorably drawn toward the Cup of Eleeje, for the candelabrum leads to the cup. He will find it in soon, and when he does, we will bring him under subjection to our order. Now, to your horses. We must pay a visit to Sheik Khawand Al Elam. He and I are expecting a visit from an ancient enemy of Baal, one to be reckoned with. Are our agents ready?”

  “Yes,” replied Wulbariöm, “they are awaiting your orders. Everything is in place. What about the Merilians? Won’t he need all three?”

  Galliöm smiled. “They will come to him in good time.”

  “What happens when he destroys the Library?” another man asked.

  “Did I mention the Library?” Galliöm snapped. “Keep to the matter at hand, Octaviöm.”

  “The Seer will turn himself into a statue of gold,” interjected Silvaniöm with a smile. “We all know this part of the prophecy.” He said this last part looking intently at Galliöm.

  The old man sustained his gaze and drew closer. “And there are certain things worth not repeating, my dear Silvaniöm, for they bear such a weight that those of a lesser stock who meddle in them will be crushed under the burden.” The two men stood eyeing each other. At first Silvaniöm sustained the master’s gaze, but after a short while, sweat covered his forehead and his lower lips began to tremble. He tried to look away but could not. His eyes widened with fear and he tried to scream, but could not do that either. He clutched his throat as though choking and gasped for air. Galliöm snapped his fingers and Silvaniöm dropped to the ground, panting. “Confine yourself to Dariöm’s instructions. You have much to learn, young Silvaniöm. Remember this.”