“Master Galliöm,” Dariöm carefully interrupted, “young Silvaniöm has a point. What if, despite our careful planning, the Seer manages to evade the Temple and us? What if he grows too strong to be contained?”
“Then we take a prosaic approach. We negotiate with the Temple, join forces with Sharr and Ibromaliöm, and crush the Seer. Right now, we’re all playing a game of power because we do not believe he can prevail. If he proves us wrong, we will then adopt the game of survival, and I pity anyone who shall stand in our way.” The old man lifted a dagger laced with ancient curses and the seven men laughed, and their laughter filled the room with a foreboding echo.
“The kôhrosh stands high amongst the creatures that the Lords of the Deep unleashed. It remains a mystery inaccessible to the greatest sorcerers of Baal. Alissaar Ben- Nadam once said that 'of the kôhrosh, we count three, one of the sea, one of the land, and one of the air. The Temple has had recourse to the Arayat to contain the latter while the first two remain at large.' After much reflection, I remain convinced that the Arayat can restrain the kôhrosh insofar as the kôhrosh is willing to be restrained. The kôhrosh could have escaped long ago but it is biding its time. For what? I cannot tell. Here, it is worthwhile recalling the startling insight that Sahiqa, the wisest of all high priestesses, has had concerning this creature: 'My studies lead me to believe that the source of the kôhrosh is mysteriously intertwined with the lore of the Seriathörist; both are deadly and both are utterly alien to the Temple.”
–Teachings of Oreg, a High Priest of Baal.
As soon as they reached the foothills, Ahiram climbed back on his horse and let the great steed trot at will. The road was dimly lit by the moon that hung above like a one-eyed watchman. They went along a winding, easterly road that climbed up the hills surrounding Byblos. At regular intervals, Ahiram stopped, dismounted, and listened in the silence, trying to detect the presence of any followers. He repeated this procedure until he was convinced that they were alone on the road, at which point he loosened the reins and prodded the steed.
“Let’s see you gallop a bit,” he said to the horse, a glint in his eye.
The horse came to a full stop.
“What now?” Ahiram prodded the horse further, but the animal would not budge. He tried every trick he knew, to no avail. Exasperated, he dismounted and circled the horse. “Are you hurt?” he added as he inspected the legs. “Why did you stop?”
The horse snorted and kept turning his head toward the saddle.
“What? What do you want?” he said, glancing at the saddle.
“For a Silent, you can be daft sometimes,” Sheheluth grumbled. “He wants some of those apples.”
“What are you talking about? Everyone knows that a hungry horse stops to graze. He can’t be asking for an apple. That’s nonsense.”
“Why don’t you give him one instead of arguing with me?”
Frustrated, Ahiram grabbed an apple from the basket he had securely tied to the saddle and presented it to the horse, who snorted.
“You’re being silly,” Sheheluth said. “You’ve got to cut it for him.”
Grumbling inaudibly, Ahiram quartered the apple and presented the pieces to the steed, who grabbed them gently from his hand and munched on them with obvious and unrestrained delight.
“All done? Can we go now?”
Ahiram was rewarded with a prolonged snort.
“He wants more,” Sheheluth said.
Ahiram fed the horse another apple and climbed back up. “Glutton,” he muttered. “Can we please go now?”
The horse did not budge.
“You hurt his feelings. You should apologize.”
“What? I what? Me, apologize to a horse? I will do no such thing.”
“Then we won’t go anywhere any time soon.”
Exasperated, Ahiram jumped back down and stood facing the horse. “I am very sorry, Your Highness, if I have offended you in any way by calling you a glutton, and to prove my sincerity, here is one more apple.”
The horse took the slices of apple from Ahiram and trotted away, forcing the Silent to run after him. “Somebody should teach this horse some discipline,” he huffed, after seating himself.
Up ahead lay a narrow valley leading to the forest that blanketed the range of Kesrwan, the northwestern mountains in the Land of Finikia that comprised Byblos and Baher-Ghafé. Even though Kesrwan’s peaks were of a moderate elevation, the continuous intertwining of steep, narrow canyons and mountaintops turned any crossing into an ordeal, especially for anyone unfamiliar with the area. Roads were literally carved from the flint of the mountainside.
Ahiram knew this area relatively well. His family and family friends used to come here for a springtime picnic just like the people of Byblos did for the Festival of the Moon. He recalled that his father had friends that lived up in the mountains, and they would often visit them. If I can find the brook where we used to breakfast, thought the young man, we could climb the pathway that Father’s friends used to take.
Aside from the horse’s incident, Sheheluth and Ahiram had not exchanged a word since leaving Byblos. Even though he enjoyed the silence, he found Sheheluth’s unusual stillness unnerving, as if the end of the world was imminent. If Sheheluth was apprehensive, however, she did not show it.
They reached the narrow valley and saw the edge of the forest a short distance away.
“I am looking for a brook,” he whispered.
Sheheluth perked up. “Why are you whispering?”
He shrugged his shoulders and dismounted. “We won’t be able to see it from a distance, but we should hear it.”
The narrow valley sloped gently up from south to north. Ahiram decided to go down the slope in search of the brook, and after going around a long bend, they saw an enormous boulder that stood higher than the trees. Immediately, Ahiram knew where he was.
“The brook is north of here, so we have to turn around,” he told Sheheluth. “I know where it is now.”
He remembered climbing on the boulder once and nearly killing himself when the part he was standing on broke off and fell some sixty feet down. Ahiram had hung by his hands and barely managed to regain his footing. He did not tell his parents what had happened. The memory brought a smile to his face, and he relaxed somewhat. They took cover under the trees as they walked. The valley was covered with rocks of all sizes as though a river had once flowed there. From time to time, the call of some bird would shatter the silence. The rays of the sun crested the rim of the mountains and lit the forest’s canopy. After what seemed to be a long walk, the rocks gave way to a lush clearing. This is it, thought Ahiram, excited. He went toward the trees and listened. Sure enough, they could hear the brook. He looked at Sheheluth, who smiled back. They entered the forest and walked toward the stream. The water trickled over the rock, singing a quiet song. The brook was as Ahiram remembered it. Clusters of sweet wild blackberry bushes grew nearby. Just as they were about to reach the stream, they heard a loud neighing.
Ahiram stopped the horse. “Wait for me here,” he told Sheheluth.
He advanced quietly toward the brook and crawled the last dozen yards, then looked up. A day patrol of High Riders—consisting of twelve men—and their horses were resting next to the water.
How did they find me so quickly? wondered Ahiram, astounded. He was about to retreat when a thought crossed his mind. Maybe they’re not after me. Then what are they doing here? He looked again and recognized the two soldiers who had warned him that Baher-Ghafé was off limits to the public. They were standing by blackberry bushes.
“Well, captain, what do you think?” asked one of them. Ahiram could barely hear them.
“Those accursed Black Robes will fall right into it. Should they decide to come down on a different path, a similar trap will welcome them.”
“Why didn’t we pursue them earlier? Why wait?”
“Who knows? Temple politics, I suppose,” replied the captain. “But now that Nebo is in command, things
will change. The High Priest Sharr and the general do not see eye-to-eye, but I think Nebo will get his way.”
“Hey Captain, look what we found in the forest!” Two soldiers emerged from under the trees, one holding Sheheluth by the arm and the other guiding the black stallion.
Blast that girl, Ahiram thought, What happened to her? One day she is all powerful and full of magic, and the next she’s like a weak thirteen-year-old.
“Watch out, soldiers!” exclaimed the captain with a stern voice. “There’s a nine-foot wide hole ahead of you. You would not like those sharp spears we planted down there.”
The soldiers stopped and looked intently at the ground. This gave Ahiram the chance to lift up his head again to inspect the area around the captain. Although the grass was skillfully laid to cover the hole, one patch of grass stood out from the rest. This patch has the grass leaning south to north noted Ahiram, whereas the rest of the area has the grass leaning east to west. Ahiram took stock of the distance and quickly formed a plan of action. Without the element of surprise, I wouldn’t have a chance against twelve High Riders. With it, I must act quickly. He lowered his head, retreated a couple feet, and hid behind a large tree trunk.
The two soldiers brought Sheheluth and the black stallion to the captain and then withdrew a couple feet back. Ahiram saw the backs of the men standing in a semi-circle around the captain and Sheheluth.
“I know you,” the captain said. “You’re that slave girl from the inn in Byblos. What are you doing here?”
“Have I trespassed in forbidden territory, Captain? Is it not allowed for someone to ride in this area?”
“Are you riding here alone? I don’t think so,” said the captain, laughing. “You’re running away, aren’t you?” Sheheluth did not answer. “Of course, I cannot let you run away. I am accountable to the Temple,” the captain continued as he circled her, “unless of course, you show me how grateful you are to let you pass.”
The men laughed heartily. Sheheluth remained silent, looking down. Suddenly, she said, “Captain, look out.”
The captain looked down and jumped backward; three serpents slid in the clearing and began circling Sheheluth. He raised his sword and brought it down on one of them, but it avoided the blow and lashed out at him with blinding speed. He checked the back of his hand and saw two bright, red spots. The captain moaned in pain. He looked at his hand with bewilderment. His men took two steps back.
“Magic, Captain, she’s using magic.”
“I will show you what I do to magicians,” the captain replied as he raised his other arm to strike her, and screamed instead when a dart pierced his raised hand. Four of his men suddenly fell, and before the others had time to act, Ahiram jumped in their midst, grabbed Sheheluth’s hand and the horse’s reins, and ran toward the path up the mountain. He told her to run up the hill as fast as she could. “I will join you as soon as I can,” he said as he slapped the horse’s flank. Sheheluth obeyed without saying a word. Ahiram turned around to face nine High Riders. He raised his arm and gripped the sword’s hilt that landed in his open palm. He swung Noraldeen and the blade sang, bright colors streaking its edges.
The angry captain lunged forward and shouted, “Attack!” Ahiram swung Noraldeen against the base of a pine tree, cutting it down like a knife slicing through bread. Another swing and a second tree fell down. The trees came crashing down on the soldiers, pinning some of them down. Those who escaped fell in the trap they had themselves prepared for the Black Robes. They did not survive. Ahiram turned back and ran up the path. The stallion stood on a narrow plateau, resting. He caught sight of Sheheluth sitting on a rock, waiting for him. He called her name and she came to him. Upon reaching the plateau, Ahiram inspected the trees around them. Perfect, he thought.
“What’s your plan?” she asked.
“I’m going to block this path, and we will move further into the forest. We’ll wait for the cover of the night, then we’ll be on our way.” Ahiram raised his sword and begun to mow trees down. Within minutes, twelve trees had fallen and completely blocked the path, making it impossible for horses to cross over since there were steep ravines on each side. Turning around, Ahiram began inspecting the winding path ahead of them. “Too steep,” he said after a short while. “We’re going to walk.” Sheheluth nodded once more and they started to climb up the mountain.
The captain of the day patrol moaned in pain. He opened his eyes but closed them again as a thick, warm liquid dripped down from his forehead. He wiped the blood off his face and tried to get up, but could not move. He was pinned by the large branch of one of the trees that had fallen on them. Who was that boy, and how did he cut those trees? After a few minutes, he heard footsteps behind him. Arching his neck backward, he saw three soldiers looking around.
“Uziah, here,” he shouted. “Lift this branch.” Uziah and his companions waded their way with some difficulty amongst the foliage and the branches of the trees. The large branch was heavy and despite their strength, the soldiers were not able to move it.
“Wait here,” said Uziah. “We still have our tools nearby.” He went away and returned shortly with a shovel. He dug under the captain and was soon able to pull him from under the branch. The captain tried to stand up but would have collapsed without Uziah’s help.
“You’re wounded,” said Uziah, “a deep cut. You must have bled profusely.” He lay him down next to the fallen tree trunk.
“What happened to the others?” the captain asked.
“Six fell on the spears that we planted in the pit. Two are dead and the other four will not live much longer. Jaris and Tobiat are under the trunk of the other tree, and I don’t think they survived. Then there are the three of us, Abinar, Dalet, and myself.”
The captain wanted to say something but instead clasped his chest and moaned in pain. His breathing became short and shallow, and abruptly stopped. He was dead. The three soldiers looked at each other. “Riders,” Uziah said, “Follow the prescribed procedures in case of war. If the other soldiers are beyond saving, terminate them and bury the dead. I must go at once to Baalbek and inform the general.”
High up in the mountains, two men dressed in black were lying on a flat rock overlooking the valley. They lay motionless, undetectable. They surveyed the surroundings in search of something or someone.
“So Baal has finally decided to make a move,” one of them whispered.
“Yes. A spy is making his way up. Our agent forewarned us. He should be here soon.”
“How are we to recognize him?”
“Weren’t you at the meeting yesterday?”
“No. I had to go home to attend to certain personal matters.”
“I see. Well, the spy will pretend to be a fugitive fleeing the hordes of Baal. Personally, I would not be surprised if Baal were to send High Riders after him.”
“What do we do when we see him?”
The first man grinned. “Alert the others. They will take care of him.”
His companion and he fell silent once more and continued their watch. The sun, by now, was high in the sky, and the wind blew fiercely around them. They took this to be a bad omen.
Ahiram stood up and surveyed the area. They were hiding not too far from the edge of the forest, under a thicket of gnarly trees that shielded them from prying eyes. The Silent knew that sooner or later, they would have to leave the protective shadows of the forest and be exposed to the piercing eyes of Baal. The Temple would most likely be alerted by now, and the two fugitives knew that they would be on the run until they reached an area that was not under the Temple’s dominion. Ahiram decided to wait until nightfall before climbing the steep hills ahead. Even though he knew this would render their already perilous ascent even more dangerous, he was willing to take the risk in order to hide from Baal.
Sheheluth was resting and had not said a word all day. He sat motionless, studying the landscape ahead of him, impressing upon his memory the shapes of rocks, their positions, and their heights. He
would have to rely on his memory when climbing in the dark. Thick dark clouds had begun to assemble above their heads. This is strange, thought Ahiram. I have never seen clouds form so quickly. I don’t like this. The Temple must be up to something.
“Have you located him?”
Zarifa took her eyes away from the three orbs floating in midair and looked at the translucent image of the high priest in the Orb of Seeing. She was still nervous.
After the memorable conversation with Sharr where she told him the Seer had escaped, she had collapsed and screamed convulsively. When she recovered from the nauseating spasms, she sat with her back to the wall and remembered how she used to despise Bahiya whenever the former high priestess of Baalbek showed signs of weakness. Zarifa cried bitterly, regretting her own callousness, and wished that Bahiya was with her to allay the sense of loneliness closing in on her like an iron cage slowly constricting her heart and squeezing the life out of her chest.
But she had to get up and shoulder her responsibility. She had searched for Ahiram by looking for the distinct signature of El-Windiir’s artifacts in the Arayat, but found nothing.
“No, Your Honor, I have not found him.”
“Why?” Sharr asked.
“A powerful cloak,” she replied as she wiped the sweat away from her face. “I was not aware that he knows how to cloak himself.”
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 41