Ahiram relaxed. “There’s nothing you said that could cause me to explode in a fit of rage, as you say. I am willing to lend credence to your story, but I would be gratified if you could let me meet with my sister.”
Ashod observed Ahiram in silence for what seemed like a long time, then got up in one fluid movement. With a slight nod of the head, he signaled for everyone to leave. “You too,” he told Sheheluth, “come.”
They all filed out and Shadow followed. Ahiram noticed that the person that had been fidgeting nervously was still in the cell with him. The hooded figure drew into the light. The cowl fell, revealing thick, curly, long hair.
“Hello, Ahiram,” the young woman said.
Ahiram sprang to his feet. “Hiyam! What are you doing here?”
The woman’s eyes blurred and a pained expression filled her face. “Ahiram, it is I, your sister Hoda.”
“Now, the Shepherds have always been powerful, precisely because their ways were veiled, even to the piercing gaze of Baal. Amongst them, the Seriathörist Shepherds were to be feared; their magical powers were wholly their own.”
–Teachings of Oreg, High Priest of Baal.
Hoda drew closer to Ahiram, who looked bewildered and confused. He had not seen his sister in six years and had mistaken her for Hiyam. The resemblance disturbed him, and he didn’t know what to make of it.
Hoda smiled at him. She spoke with a soft voice.
“Ahiram, don’t you recognize me?”
This voice, thought Ahiram, I know this voice. Images from the past flooded his mind: scenes where his sister Hoda ran on the beach, danced around a bonfire, told him stories, or brought him small wooden toys from the market that she had exchanged for shark meat. He stared at her in disbelief, unable to bring himself to speak. With a shaking hand, he reached out and gently lifted a lock of her hair as if he wanted to assure himself that she was not a ghost. His hand moved to her face and his finger ran over a small scar on her forehead, the remnant of a wound he had inflicted on her when, in a fit of rage, he threw a wooden toy at her. The emotions that had been frozen in his heart ever since he had lost her, the natural expressions of joy, sorrow, fear, and comfort he had experienced while with her were starting to thaw out and resume as if he was still twelve years old. The joy of finding his sister mixed with the bitterness of the betrayals he had lived, and the two emotions became a tight knot that constricted his breathing. He buckled in her arms. Ahiram grabbed his sister and held her tightly, as if he were back in her boat and she was now finally coming to save him. She reached out and embraced him, stroking the back of his head that he leaned heavily on her shoulder. Slowly, they slid to the floor, and she held him against her, consoling him with the simple yet familiar gesture he had longed for. Twice he tried to pull away, ashamed of acting like a child, and twice, she held him firmly against her, knowing how much he needed this consolation. Progressively, the knot of her own guilt began to loosen. Ahiram did not recriminate, did not accuse her of abandoning him. He did not point a condemning finger at her the way she had done to herself for many years. He did not storm out, filled with resentment and hatred. He was still her younger brother, and she marveled at the strength of their fraternal love. At long last, she felt that the missing piece of her heart had been returned to her. She was now grateful, grateful to Karadon, who had loved her and carried her all these years, who had found her beautiful even when she could not stand herself, who never wavered, never hesitated to stand by her side. Because of him, she was now here, holding her brother in her arms.
Slowly, Ahiram pulled away and wiped his tears. He looked at her and they both shared a laugh.
“Nothing has changed,” he said at last. “I keep wounding myself and you keep consoling me. Maybe it’s time we switched roles.”
She tousled his hair, and that familiar gesture nearly choked him again but he restrained his tears. “How you’ve grown,” she said. “You’re taller than me now.”
He looked at her and with one quick motion stood up while pulling her with him. He was now a full head taller than her. “That’s true,” he said, “I didn’t notice. You were always the giant I looked up to. Still are. But now, I can protect you.” With one quick movement, he lifted her up. Surprised, she cried out and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’re so light,” he said as he twirled her around, “I could carry you with one hand.”
“Put me down, you big oaf,” she protested. “Ahiram, I’m serious; put me down, please.”
He laughed and gently, as if she was made of glass, set her back down.
“I’m a grown woman, Ahiram, that’s inappropriate conduct.”
“Hoda, you’re my sister,” he countered quietly, “and I don’t care what anyone else says.”
“My husband might protest.”
“He can protest all he want … Wait, what? You’re married?” He added in a plaintive voice, “How come you didn’t invite me to the wedding?” She smiled. He turned beet-red when he realized what he had just said. As he pulled two chairs, he tried to hide his embarrassment behind a prolonged cough, which stopped when they sat down. “So, who’s the lucky man?”
“Karadon.”
He nodded. “I vaguely remember him. I suppose Father and Mother …” He then realized he had not asked her about their parents, and he leapt from his seat. “Are they alive, Hoda? Tell me the truth.”
She placed a reassuring hand over his. “They are alive. I am so sorry, I should have told you that instead of talking about me. They’re on a mission for Ashod, but they’re doing well otherwise.”
“Mother on a mission?” he asked. “Our mother?”
“You would hardly recognize her, Ahiram. She’s changed. She’s become so strong. I also found out that she worked in the Temple of Baalbek before you were born.”
“Yeah,” he said evenly, “Syreen mentioned something of the sort.”
“Syreen?” Hoda asked, confused. “I didn’t think she knew that. When did you see her last?”
“She helped me escape from the Temple in Baalbek.”
Hoda blanched. “You were a prisoner in the Temple? I didn’t know that. What happened to you?”
Ahiram smiled. “How about we start from the beginning? You tell me what happened to you, then I’ll tell you what happened to me.”
“This is a dangerous game, Ashod,” Sheheluth said softly.
Ashod scoffed. “It has always been a dangerous game and you know that better than anyone else.”
“You don’t get it. I just realized that he has been branded by the kôhrosh. I didn’t think this monster would do that. I thought he would carry him straight into the Arayat. He’s been branded, Ashod. I can’t break a branding, which means that you can’t either. I doubt Sureï would have been able to. He’s going to be dragged into the Arayat, where he will do the kôhrosh’s bidding and then slowly vanish away, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Perhaps,” Ashod said as he got up from his chair and grabbed Ahiram’s leather bag, “You’re missing one thing though.” He pulled a dark silk cloth from his pocket and opened Ahiram’s bag.
Sheheluth smirked. “Do you habitually walk around with a spell-binder in your pocket?”
Ashod looked at her and spoke in a soft, serious voice. “I have been warned about your sarcastic sense of humor, M’Lady.”
Sheheluth frowned. “You should know better than to use titles with me, Ashod.” Her tone was imperious and commanding.
“Then please don’t aggravate a cranky old man with your sarcasm. I’m surprised Ahiram has been putting up with you for this long.” Sheheluth rolled her eyes, but Ashod ignored her. He mumbled a few words, then reached inside the bag and wrapped the cloth around the base of candelabrum. He pulled it out set it on the table before them. “Did you know he had this with him?”
Sheheluth frowned and drew closer. She examined the object closely, but did not touch it. “Extraordinary. When you told me that he had to get an object, I sent Shadow t
o help him, but I didn’t expect this. I’ve never seen it before. How could he have found this?”
“He didn’t. Galliöm practically gave it to him.”
“They’re helping him?”
“In order to control him, of course. They found out that subduing him is a lot riskier than expected, so, yes, they are his allies against the Temple until he gives them the opening they need, and then they will turn him into a willing servant, which is precisely what Sharr would like to do also.”
“Indeed, but not Ibromaliöm.”
“Ibromaliöm, like Sarand prefers terminal solution. He would rather kill the Seer, and she wants to destroy the female Seer.”
“Complicated,” Sheheluth said.
“As always.”
“Will you be telling him all this?”
“I will tell him what he needs to know.”
She leaned over and examined the candelabrum. “So, you think this candle-holder is powerful enough to protected him against a kôhrosh?”
“What do you know about the Seriathörists?”
“They’re an order of shepherds from Atlant who predate the Order of Baal. I’ve even heard from the Ancient of Days that they go back as far as the fall of Silbarâd and the Wars of Riharon. They sided with the Lady of Eleeje against the hordes of the Pit.”
“Your mind is as sharp as ever despite the passing of years, M’Lady.” She opened her mouth to rebuke him, but he raised a staying hand. “The only correction, if I may, is that they were never shepherds; they were mariners. Seriathör, their founder, led the maritime onslaught that saved the Unseen Tower from destruction after the fall of Silbarâd. It is even said that his vessel, the Merilion, was powered by the Lords of Light themselves and could move faster than any ship that was built or would ever be built. This may be a legend, of course, but the important fact remains: Seriathör’s power was great, and it was not sourced from the pit. He was the original owner of the Merilians, this candelabrum and the Cup of Eleeje. What he used them for is a complete mystery. But I would not be surprised if the candelabrum reacted to the hold of the kôhrosh and protected the Seer.”
“Are you willing to risk the fate of the world on mere speculations? Wouldn’t it be safer to hand him over to Baal and be done with it?”
“There’s a simple test that will tell us whether this speculation of mine is based in facts or not.”
“That’s true,” Sheheluth whispered. “I had nearly forgotten about that test. I wouldn’t believe it if I had not seen it with my own eyes. Infants.”
“Infants indeed,” Ashod said. “Victims of the kôhrosh branding cannot be near infants, let alone touch one.”
“Why is that, I wonder?”
“I have my theory. Infants represent the purest form of life. They’re brimming with contained life-force, and victims of the kôhrosh branding are in a state of advanced decay. It seems to me that the two states are incompatible, and holding an infant would then hurt too much.” He shrugged his shoulder. “It’s a theory, anyway, but the test holds true.”
“How will you convince Ahiram to hold an infant? We will need to contrive a situation—”
“No need,” Ashod cut in. “Leave it up to Hoda. We simply need to be present and act in case he rejects the child.”
Sheheluth nodded. “Seers are tough business.”
Ashod sighed. “Always,” he said, “Always.”
The food on the table had gone cold, for neither of them had touched their plates much. Ahiram finished telling Hoda what happened to him in the last six years, and she looked at him speechless. The death of Noraldeen affected her profoundly, more than she let on. She could still hear Aquilina’s cry, “She died, Vily, she died.” From what the girls had shared with her, and what Ahiram now told her, she confirmed that the one Aquilina called Snoring Man was indeed her brother, and that it was him that Aquilina had tried to help when she escaped her grip and disappeared inside Tyrulan.
That thought terrified her. Thinking about the twelve-year-old fighting the urkuun scared her now more than ever. Aquilina, who are you? Hoda wondered. Where did you find the strength to fight this monster?
She placed her hand on her brother’s arm. “Ahiram, I am so sorry for what you had to endure. I am sorry for the death of your friend and for all that happened to you. I wish I had been there with you—”
“Actually, I’m glad you weren’t,” he replied quickly. “Imagine if I had lost you as well. I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Happy birthday,” she added after a moment of silence. “You turned nineteen four days ago.”
“You still remember,” he said, smiling.
“How could I forget?”
Hoda shared with him her life with the Black Robes and with Karadon. She explained how, in the past year, they had adopted two orphans, a brother and sister.
“The adoption was supposed to be temporary, you know,” she explained with flushed cheeks.
Finikians did not adopt children outside of their immediate kin. If a husband and wife died, their next-of-kin would assume the charge of their children, and that was never thought of as adoption. Adoption of children who were not blood relation was rare and viewed with suspicion. The adoptive parents were looked upon as slave merchants who, rather than purchase slaves, acquired children for free and exploited them.
“Somehow, the children have grown attached to us, and us to them,” she added. “We treat them very well, you know,” she hastened to add.
“Hoda, enough. I understand why we, Finikians, are generally leery of adoptions, but, come on, you’re the best mother any child could dream of having. You don’t have to convince me of that.”
“Yeah, well about that,” she added, “I … well … I gave birth to a baby girl six weeks ago.” She avoided telling him that she became pregnant while guiding Corintus and his family from Gordion to Tirkalanzibar to keep from him her encounter with Arfaad.
“What? A baby? You’re a mom now? And I’m an uncle?” He was elated and confused, joyful and fearful at the same time. “Amazing,” he added, “simply amazing.”
“Well, technically, you were already an uncle when we adopted the children, but, yes, I know how you feel.”
He looked down, wishing that they were back in Baher-Ghafé. “Now that you have your own child, will you keep the adopted children? Are they jealous of the baby?”
“Keep the children? Of course! They’re delighted to have a new sister. She is their joy. You should see her, Ahiram, she’s so cute. This child, I tell you, she’s got her father wrapped around her little finger already.”
“What’s her name?”
“The child.”
“Yes, what’s her name?”
Hoda blushed. “See, Karadon and I could not agree on a name, so we call her ‘the child’. That’s her name … for now.”
Ahiram glared at his sister, uncomprehending. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said straightening his posture, “you mean to tell me that your daughter, my niece, your own flesh and blood, has no name because your husband and you can’t agree on a name, so you’re calling her ‘the child’? But Hoda, Father told us many times than nameless children are claimed by the sharks! That’s child abuse!”
Hoda laughed. “Father made up that nonsense to hide the fact that when he got mad at you, he could no longer say your name.”
“Oh yeah, he ‘d say ‘hey you, the boy, what’s your name, come here.”
She tussled his hair. “You knew how to give him a hard time.”
Ahiram smiled. “Now, dear sister, back to the child, what are you going to call her?”
“We’re really close,” Hoda protested. “We’re down to three names: Suraya, Domnina, and Marianelle.”
“How many names did you have to begin with?”
“Twenty.”
“It took the two of you nine months to get down from twenty to three? What is this? Political negotiations?”
“Well, actually, almost everyone at camp
had their say, and we’ve even held meetings to decide her name …”
“You can’t be serious, Hoda. What’s gotten into you?”
“You don’t understand,” she replied, eyes downcast. “The child was born in our camp. She’s a sign of hope, and everyone feels she somehow belongs to them, so they wanted a bit of themselves in her.”
“That’s absurd,” Ahiram protested. “Well, anyway, I don’t like any of these names. You should call her Hayat, like Mother, and that’ll be that.”
“We’ve gone over this already. It’s not part of Karadon’s customs, and he finds it troubling to have to address his daughter with the same name as his mother-in-law.”
Just then someone knocked at the door. Hoda got up and opened it. It was Karadon, standing with the baby.
“Ahiram, this is Karadon, my husband,” said Hoda.
Ahiram got up and shook hands with Karadon. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” said Karadon who was rocking his daughter. “You’ve grown pretty tall since I last saw you. I still remember the wiry young boy who could run like the wind.” Turning to his wife, he handed her the baby. “She needs to feed.”
As if on cue, the baby began to cry.
Hoda got up. “Ahiram, why don’t you —”
“I need a bath and I won’t mind resting a bit, if there’s a bed. It’s been a long while since I’ve bathed and slept.”
“Go to the first floor and a server will lead you to your room. Once I’m done here, I’ll come by. I do want you to meet your niece.”
Ahiram stopped and smiled. “My niece. I like the sound of it.”
After Ahiram left, Karadon sat across from his wife and helped her settle to feed the baby.
“So, how is he?” he asked.
“He’s gone through a lot. He was sold as a slave, trained as a Silent, and nearly died trying to win his freedom. I’m sure he didn’t tell me the half of it, but I could tell he has gone through much already. He is very affected by the death of Noraldeen.”
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 45