“Three diegans for me and three for my brother.”
“You’re expensive,” Foosh exclaimed.
“You won’t regret it,” the young woman replied.
“What do we have here?” Balid asked, unable to hold any longer.
Foosh glared at him, as though saying, “Stay out of this one, Balid.”
The young woman walked toward him and bowed. “My name is Sheheluth, sir, and my brother and I would like to enter your service and help you cross the desert.”
“What can you do and what can your brother do?” Balid asked, surprised by the boldness of the young maid.
“I will attend to your wife and my brother is the best bodyguard you could possibly hire.”
“Where is your brother?” Balid asked with a polite smile. He had heard those claims before.
“I will ask him to come and meet you right away.” She bowed and left for the market in search of Ahiram.
“You’re going to hire her just out of the goodness of your heart, aren’t you?” Foosh asked, annoyed.
“Maybe and maybe not,” the carpet merchant replied. “Let’s wait and see what her brother can do. ‘He is the best body guard you would want to hire,’ she said. Well, I’ll want to meet this bodyguard.”
Balid called the five young men he had just hired. They were tall, brave, and muscular—three traits Balid sought in guards. “Hide yourselves and wait for my signal. When you hear me say, ‘You’re too expensive,’ attack the young man I’ll be talking to. Don’t hurt him. Immobilize him on the ground, that’s all.” Balid gave each a silver coin. They bounded away, hid, and waited.
Moments later, Sheheluth returned with a taller-than-average young man. Balid sighed condescendingly. “Best bodyguard,” he muttered to himself. “I will show her that her ‘best bodyguard’ isn’t the best.”
Sheheluth walked over and bowed. Her “brother” stayed behind her. “Sir, this is Ahiram, my brother. He’s the best bodyguard you can hire.”
“How much are you asking to be my bodyguard, young man?”
Sheheluth replied in his stead, “Three gold diegans, sir.”
“Three gold diegans? You would be one expensive bodyguard, young man,” and he added with a loud voice, “You’re too expensive.”
Ahiram hated haggling. He stood quietly behind Sheheluth when he saw a man leap out from behind the tent and rush toward him. A quick scan around and he knew there were five attackers. One of them rushed him, and tried to tackle him from the back. One powerful back-kick and the runner fell to the ground. A second young man was closing from the left. A sidekick took care of him. A stepping-stop-kick stopped the third attacker who was coming straight at him. Ahiram followed this by a sweep and a right-side-axe to the sternum of his fourth attacker. The four men lay down, wincing in pain. The Silent stared at his fifth attacker, who stopped in his tracks. Seeing his fallen companions, he backtracked, turned around, and ran away.
Ahiram glared at the fat merchant, who uttered impulsively in an apologetic tone: “I wanted to see how good you were, and you’re very good. Very, very good. I wonder now if I should have even hired these men to guard the caravan.”
Ahiram helped the four fellows up back up on their feet, and they left quickly, eager to put a comfortable distance between themselves and this young fighter who knew how to kick. The Silent approached Sheheluth and whispered something in her ear. She smiled mischievously.
She walked over to Balid. “Sir, my brother is right. Three gold diegans are not enough. We want four each.”
Balid looked at them and erupted in a powerful laugh. “You’re hired,” he finally said.
“What tidings bring you here, my child?”
Zarifa peered at the orb and saw the face of Sharr. He looks old and tired, thought the newly promoted high priestess.
“Yes, yes, my child, I am old and tired,” Sharr said, smiling as if he could read her mind, “nonetheless, we have a temple to run and a world to keep in order. What news do you have for us?”
“Nebo failed. Someone is helping the slave.”
“Indeed. More importantly, this slave has even succeeded in confusing the kôhrosh. What’s more remarkable is that we’re no longer able to track him in the Arayat.”
“And the Black Robes have deserted their camp. We do not believe they could have left Mitani because all the ports are under lock-down. Still, there is no sign of them.”
“A renegade priest of Baal is helping them,” Sharr said.
“Impossible, Your Honor. Who would do such a thing?”
Sharr smiled. “I will forgive your ignorance on account of your youth. Remember, my child, that even the priests of Baal can be tempted to rebel against the Temple. This could happen to anyone. It certainly happened to Bahiya, did it not?” Zarifa refrained from answering. The High Priest of Babylon sighed. “What else, my child?”
“Nebo. He disobeyed the baalitarch’s direct orders.”
“Nebo will serve the Temple, then will be disposed of. I have foreseen his demise. I have seen him kneeling before a king,” Sharr added somewhat for himself, “but the oracle could not show me the king’s face, which is most troublesome. Be it as it may, do not worry about the general. His fury will run its course and will come to a predictable end. The Temple will be served, and Nebo will be forgotten. Is there any other matter you wish to discuss with us, my child?”
Zarifa understood by the high priest’s tone of voice that he wanted to end the dialogue. “No, High Priest Sharr, there is nothing else. Baal prevails.” Zarifa bowed.
“Very well, my child. Do remember to visit us the next time you come to Babylon. We appreciate your presence.” Zarifa bowed once more. When she raised her head, the orb was black. She staggered to the sink and washed the sweat off her face. “Had they told me about the sweat and nausea that comes with magic, I would have thought twice about it,” she muttered. “Not only that, but Sharr has refused my request to engage an Adorant to deal with Nebo. He wants me to marry the boar. He thinks this will be necessary for my advancement. He wants me to marry him and then control him.” She was beginning to regret her decision to become a high priestess of Baal. I understand now why Bahiya did not want to come back. She thought of Tanniin and all the innocent men, women, and children who would die under Nebo’s hand, and for the first time, wondered if it was worth it.
“Ahiram …”
The Silent jumped out of bed and stood by the door, sword in hand.
“You should hide. High Riders are in town. They’re inspecting the caravan.”
“Got it,” Ahiram replied. “Be careful, Sheheluth.”
“Don’t worry about me; I’m not the one they’re looking for.”
Balid and his committee were not caught unprepared. Not knowing that Ahiram was a fugitive of the Temple, they assumed that the captain was here for the usual bribe. They gave the High Rider the grand tour and showed him their wares. The captain told them that he had to search their tents to see if anyone was harboring a suspicious individual. The committee thanked the captain for his solicitude and offered to compensate him for his efforts with some small token of appreciation. The captain refused, asserting that this was not according to protocol, to which the committee retorted that they would not want to keep the captain from what was to be a brilliant and heroic career. They assured him that the Temple would be appraised of his impeccable conduct and of the invaluable assistance he provided them by keeping the peace and protecting the lawful flow of goods and services, two of the pillars that subtended Baal’s prosperity. The captain acquiesced and assured them of his selfless and devoted services. The committee thanked him profusely, and as a token of gratitude, gave him a camel loaded with goods.
As soon as the soldiers had left, Balid started shouting orders. “Form the caravan. We can’t wait any longer. We must be gone before they’re back.” The merchants, who were already packed and ready, ran back to their wagons. The caravan numbered over thirty merchants. Some, like
Balid, had ten wagons, and others had one or two. Ahiram wondered how these merchants intended on crossing the desert with such heavy loads. Balid explained to him that the road ahead was mainly rocky with short sandy stretches. “It is during those stretches that the caravan is most vulnerable because we proceed at snail’s pace, and we become a very tempting target to the vandals that want to despoil us.”
“Why can’t you treat them the same way you treated the captain of the High Riders?” asked the Silent, curious.
“The captain is a practical man. His pay is meager and life is expensive. I look at it as a surcharge you need to pay when dealing with the Temple. Painful but realistic. Besides, the captain may, in time, rise to more important functions and would then become a good client of ours, thereby repaying us what we have offered him. That is good business. On the other hand, those vandals in the desert do not abide by such civility. They have a highly developed sense of honor, which is, shall we say, detrimental to the good of commercial exchange. We hope that the sizeable escort will deter these men from attacking us.”
For the next two hours, Kapor was the scene of frenzied activity as each merchant prepared for the long trip. While Sheheluth helped Foosh direct the packing operation, Ahiram walked around, surveying the scene and familiarizing himself with the merchants that had joined the caravan. Some sold expensive pottery and others, medicinal herbs. There were merchants of clothes, jewelry, and precious stones, and sellers of statues made of precious material. There were drape merchants and jewelers, traders of dried exotic fruits, wine producers, glass artisans, and suppliers of magical stones. Then, there were those who sold snakes and other poisonous critters, and merchants of health products.
Ahiram also discovered that there were doctors, dentists, and prophets, all of whom paid for lodging, food, and protection to travel with the caravan. There was even one man who claimed to be a teacher of knowledge. When Ahiram asked him what type of knowledge he taught, the man replied, somewhat distractedly, that he did not know. Ahiram smiled politely, turned around and froze. Standing in front of him was the old man from the Temple of the Unknown God; the man who had asked Shamal and him to carry the tall wooden box, the one that contained the candelabrum that Ahiram now had in his possession. The old man was draped in a dark blue velvet cape that covered him from head to toe and had something drawn on it with thick red lines. The cape was flowing in the wind, yet there was no wind. Ahiram glanced quickly behind him to see if the old man’s companions were closing on him. When he turned back, the old man was nowhere to be seen. Astounded, Ahiram moved cautiously toward the spot where the apparition had stood. He knelt down and inspected the ground. No footprints, he thought. It’s a vision, but what does it mean? He heard someone call his name and saw Sheheluth waving at him. The caravan was ready to move. He felt a streak of excitement, thinking that, soon, he would be able to see his parents. That excitement was quickly tempered by the realization that he was leaving his sister and his niece.
By now, they should be in Tanniin, he thought. If they did not make it, somebody would have heard of their arrest. News like that travels fast.
At last, the caravan began to move. One by one, the laden carriages began to move. Like a tired caterpillar, the caravan started the long journey in a billow of dust and the clamors of men and animals. Soon, the village was out of sight and the rocky, rolling hills separating Uratu from the desert appeared on the horizon.
“It will be some time before we reach the great oasis of Teshir,” said Balid, “and between here and there, we will have to deal with bandits and brigands by day and by night. Hopefully, the size of our escort will dissuade them from attacking.”
Directly behind them, the man who had lost his stones watched Ahiram with murderous intent.
“The Seer will come—this is certain—and he alone will see the cup that shines ceaselessly atop Sheor. The Seer will see it and the Seer will speak of it. This will be the sign that El will liberate you. By the cup you will be set free. Let not your heart be faint, and let not your minds grow weary, for the hour of his coming, I know not. It remains shrouded in mystery, hidden in the mind of El, to be revealed at the fullness of time.”
–Lady Lorinelle’s Prophecy as recorded in the Annals of the Marada by Lord Aron Keril, Counselor to the Malekian House, the third Dynasty of the Marada.
Ahiram opened the spout of his waterskin and let the tepid liquid moisten his dry lips. He leaned back against the base of a tall palm tree and surveyed the surroundings for any suspicious activity. He was thoroughly engrossed with the golden star dunes that seemed animated with a life of their own. They reminded him of little Nora’s golden locks that constantly shifted in the wind while remaining the same. The desert, he thought, it’s always changing, but it’s always the same. Funny, I can see myself living here in peace. The stillness, the lack of distractions, the pervading silence soothed his soul and helped him find a measure of serenity. Still, I can’t let my guard down. In the great vastness of this sea, frozen in time where sand and wind conspired to muffle every sound, a band of marauders could fall upon a caravan like a snake that snatches a mouse before the prey becomes aware of the predator.
Something fell from the palm tree next to him. A date. He did not know that dates grew green and crunchy, for he had always eaten them after they had been dried, pitted, and squeezed into a dark clump. He looked up and saw the palm tree swaying under a powerful draft, even though he did not feel the wind. Odd, he thought. But then, many things seemed odd in the desert, and the four weeks he had spent in it had not accustomed him to this land of silence.
After leaving Kapor, the caravan had inched its way like a giant caterpillar along a barely discernible path. As the horses and the wagons trudged in complete silence through the vast, empty stretch, Ahiram would often look back to assure himself that the rest of the caravan was still following. Then there was the reflection of the sun that turned everything into a blinding light. Foosh had showed him how to protect himself with a ker, a special headdress made of a thin cotton sheet folded several times over and wrapped around the head and neck. He had quickly learned how to properly fold the ker and pull it over his face, leaving only his eyes uncovered. Oddly enough, the cape that Dariöm left in his leather bag—which he had been wearing to conceal his magical artifacts—had become so thin that he barely felt it. Why the transformation? He didn’t know.
The Silent understood the appeal of a wandering life amidst the great stillness of the desert. The need to move from one oasis to another regulated the nomadic life. Some oases were nothing more than a small pool of water with a half-dozen palm trees around them, while others, like the one where they were presently encamped, were expansive—much more than what he had initially imagined.
This, however, did not explain why they had not left yet. They had settled here at the Oasis of Teshir a week ago and as far as he knew, they should have been on their way by now. For some reason, their departure was being delayed, and the committee had been discussing this issue in Balid’s tent all day.
The sun finally dropped below the horizon. This was the best part of the day, when the indirect light turned the skies into a peaceful blue and covered the dunes in a fiery orange hue. He straightened his back against the tree and removed the visor that protected his eyes. He spotted Darwiish, their guide, coming from Balid’s tent and walking in his direction. He waved at him and the old man smiled and nodded. He was walking pensively, with one hand behind his back, holding a staff with the other, whipping the sand with it as though trying to get it out of the way. His thobe—the traditional garment of the desert people—flowed gently around him, and he came and sat next to the Silent. A cough seized him and he struggled to clear it. He looked away and spat.
“Are we leaving yet?” Ahiram asked.
Darwiish chuckled. “You sound like a ten-year old. Why the rush?”
Ahiram smiled. He knew that the old man would say only what he wanted and nothing more. Darwiish had lived
all his life in the desert and would not leave it for anything in the world. He knew it as few men did and had helped many caravans cross it safely. He worked for food and lodging, never asking for a fee.
The wind blew gently behind them and somehow seemed to lament the fate of the travelers. Darwiish sighed and looked away. He sighed once more, and shook his head slowly. Ahiram waited.
With his stick, the old man pointed to his right. “Do you know what we call these dunes over there?”
Ahiram leaned forward and looked. “Dunes have names?” he said. “I thought that dunes shifted and changed constantly.”
“Star dunes shift with seasons and storms. Other dunes shift over longer period of times,” Darwiish explained. He pointed once more toward the hilly sand and said, “But these are not normal dunes.”
“What do you mean?”
“They are star dunes and should have shifted a long time ago. I’ve been coming here for over twenty-five years, and they’ve never moved. They’ve never changed shape. We call them water dunes.”
Surprised, Ahiram focused on the three dunes. He did not know what to say. Darwiish laughed silently and started coughing again. His frame shook and he finally succeeded in clearing his throat once more, and once more, he looked away and spat. He muttered something unintelligible and stood up. “Come with me,” he said, and led Ahiram toward the strange sand bluffs.
As they reached the top of the first ridge, Darwiish used his stick to mark a large X in the sand. Ahiram nearly panicked. “Darwiish,” he whispered, “you’re scribbling. That’s forbidden by the Temple.”
Darwiish laughed gently. “There are no zakiruun here and no Temple spies. The desert is under no one’s jurisdiction.” He looked at Ahiram and grinned. “I love living here.”
They went to the second dune and the guide drew another X, and on the third dune he drew a third X. They continued walking and returned to the spot from where they had started. There, Darwiish drew a fourth X in the ground. He looked up and said laconically, “The khamseen storm will be upon us soon, better go back to your tent.” They walked without saying another word. Darwiish left Ahiram at the door of Balid’s tent and continued on his way. The wind was indeed starting to pick up. What was that all about? Ahiram wondered. Why did he trace these signs on those dunes? The khamseen will be here soon, and all traces of the drawings will be lost.
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 50