The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3)

by Michael Joseph Murano

  He threw the whistle in the air, caught it, and closed his fist around it. “Thank you for your offer. I will consider it. Was there something else you wanted to discuss?”

  She hesitated slightly, then rose in a fluid movement. “Perhaps we can talk some more once we are away from here, but I would suggest that you do not interfere with the sacrifice, however painful it may be. Or we will all end up dead.”

  “I’ll take it into consideration,” he said before leaving the tent. He hastened back to the three enchanted dunes and waited a short moment before Darwiish joined him.

  “Well?” Ahiram asked. “How did it go?”

  “Splendidly well. I followed your instruction and used the ten gold diegans to bet for you.”

  “And?”

  “When you blindfolded yourself, I was able to raise the bet. The odds were one against fifty.”

  Ahiram whistled. “At least that part of my plan worked.”

  “Extremely well. You’ve made a small fortune. Your ten gold diegans have just turned into five hundred gold diegans. Not bad for one day’s work.”

  “Four hundred, actually. You get to keep one hundred.”

  “And what would I do with that? I live in the desert, my expenses are covered by the caravans, and I will probably die and be buried here. I’m waiting for my brother.”

  “But that’s crazy, Darwiish.”

  “No more so than a young man’s plan to try and save a bunch of children from being sacrificed.”

  A scream followed by loud shouts and a commotion interrupted their conversation. Ahiram turned around and saw the dark cloud turn into a slow-churning vortex that began to descend gradually. The water beneath became agitated, and everyone was moving away from the lake. White flecks gently landed on Ahiram’s opened hands before melting. He looked at his hands, disbelieving his eyes: it was snowing in the desert.

  “The Oasis of Teshir has been the subject of on-going debate at the Methodicals Center in Babylon. Alissaar Ben Nadam visited the oasis and concluded that it was under Anat's influence. Cursing it presented a practical problem. Unlike other Marqad Qodrah, Centers of Power, Teshir provided the Desert Legions with a sizeable portion of their water. To curse it would be tantamount to unleashing their wrath against Baal for years to come. Undoubtedly, the Temple would prevail against the Legions, but who would man and regulate the desert? Who would protect the Temple from marauders and criminals? Since Teshir did not hide a Letter of Power, Alissaar concluded that the best thing to do was to leave it alone and thus far, the Temple had heeded his advice.”

  –Teachings of Oreg, a High Priest of Baal.

  “The time has come!” a man shouted. “Bring the children out. Let the sacrifice begin.”

  Lightning hit the lake and thunder filled the air, overpowering every other sound. The wind turned into a gale and the palm trees bent backward like some wily belly dancers flailing their arms to the rhythm of a frenetic beat. A snowstorm rose at incredible speed, dropping the temperature in the oasis below freezing level. Still, the desert around the oasis remained sizzling hot. The storm intensified, turning the surroundings into a blizzard.

  “Ahiram, quick,” Darwiish shouted. “Come with me.”

  The Silent followed the guide to the enchanted dunes, which stood unaffected by the storm. The temperature contrast was so violent, Ahiram was instantly drenched with sweat, but it quickly evaporated. The wind howled and grew in strength, sounding like a pack of wolves. It bent the surrounding palm trees so low that a cluster of dates dangled in front of Darwiish. He plucked a bunch and handed some to Ahiram.

  “Nothing like frozen dates,” the guide said, smiling. Oddly, Ahiram could hear him clearly, as if an invisible wall muffled the sound of the storm. “Be careful of the kernel or else you’ll crack a tooth.” He bit into the fruit while Ahiram kept watching the mayhem.

  “This is insane,” the Silent muttered. “How can you think of eating at such a time?”

  Darwiish shrugged his shoulders. “Grown used to it. It happens every year, so you know, after seeing this forty times, it gets old.”

  Ahiram wiped his forehead. He was feeling dizzy. Since he left Tanniin, he had been thrown into a world laced with magic, where crafty folks harnessed chaos and insanity for a bit of gold. His belief that the Temple of Baal kept the chaos at bay had begun to fray. Wherever he turned, it seemed that magic held sway over the land. He did not know what to make of it, and could not decide whether it was a good thing, a bad thing, or just something to deal with.

  Ever since that night when Noraldeen and I stood on the balcony and we saw those lights in the sky, I’ve been facing magic. I’m beginning to wonder if this is not yet another way the Temple has of haunting me. If I’m constantly busy defending myself and fleeing from them, they’ll always have the upper-hand. Something has to change. I need to learn how to use the Letters of Power.

  Time moved like a sail boat on a windless sea. Every minute dragged, reminding him of his limits, his weaknesses, his inability to extricate himself from the steely web that seemed to be closing in on him as the Temple continued to weave invisible threads, readying the trap that would bring him to his knees. Those thoughts barreled through the gates of his consciousness, fighting to break through, imperious and haughty. Like a domineering slave-master, discouragement, hopelessness, and vanity beat against his resolve. You will destroy the world, you will turn into a tyrant, they seemed to say, your loved ones will die because of you. You have nothing to bring to this world save destruction and mayhem. Give up this fight, Ahiram, turn yourself over to the Temple, and trust in its wisdom. You will be safe, you will be rewarded, you will get to use your powers to help the world and not destroy it. Come to the Temple, my child, come to me.

  Lightning struck a nearby date tree, setting it ablaze, just as a black mass leaped through the blizzard and rammed into Ahiram, throwing him off the magic dune he was standing on with Darwiish and back into the storm. He raised his arm, waiting for the sword’s handle to land in his open palm, but the blade did not answer his summon. The blizzard of snow mixed with sand reduced his visibility to a few feet. Squinting, Ahiram saw the black mass moving slowly, and Shadow, seemingly unperturbed by the storm, walked over and eyed the Silent.

  Are you mad? Sheheluth’s voice rang inside his head. These dunes are under a powerful spell and the Temple can see them. Someone was messing with your thoughts while you stood there, right?

  Ahiram shivered under the cold wind. Sheheluth, you’re going to have to teach me to recognize these things. I’m through being toyed with like that.

  Come back to Balid’s tent. The less we speak this way here, the better.

  What of Darwiish? Do I leave him there?

  The poor man is addicted to these dunes’ magic and doesn’t know it.

  You mean you can get addicted to spells?

  Come back quickly. The sacrifice will begin shortly.

  Ahiram trudged through a foot of snow toward the tents. “This is crazy. This is madness,” he said. He steeled himself against the freezing, howling wind, and inched his way one step at a time until he reached Balid’s portable home. He was surprised and impressed to see it still standing. It swayed ever so slightly, but none of its sides were torn and all the ropes tethering it were still intact. Remarkable, he thought, as he walked in. I’ll need to ask him about the design of his tent.

  He heaved a sigh of relief when the welcoming heat from a nearby cooking fire enveloped him. Much better, he thought. Foosh walked over and handed him a bowl of soup, which he took gratefully.

  “Ah, there you are,” Balid said with his expansive smile. “Quite the storm out there, eh?”

  Ahiram nodded as he ate his soup. The door to his room opened slightly and Sheheluth motioned for him to join her. He gulped down the rest of the soup and walked inside his room, but when she closed the door, he gave her an embarrassed look.

  “What?” she said softly.

  “Well, aren’t they goin
g to wonder what you’re doing in my room? It’s unseemly.”

  “Dummy,” she huffed. “We’re siblings, remember?”

  Ahiram was relieved. “Ah yes, I forgot.”

  “So, you finally figured out you need to understand more about magic. I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Why didn’t you warn me about the magical realm?”

  “You’ve got to ask. What do you want to know?”

  “What’s the difference between a spell and a curse, and how do I recognize them?”

  “I see. So you don’t want to do magic. You just want to learn how to deal with it, is that right?”

  He nodded. “Frankly, I wish there was no magic at all. At times, I wonder if it’s not a dirty trick the gods play on us. I believe what I see and touch, and I’m not comfortable with all this … stuff.”

  “Well, this ‘stuff,’ as you call it, can kill you. Alright then. The difference between a spell and a curse is a lot simpler than you think. A spell is the king of choke-hold. It allows you to influence the way your opponent behaves.”

  “Actually,” corrected Ahiram, “a shoulder wrist-lock against a rear shoulder grab or a cross-hand shoulder grab would be better suited here.”

  “Don’t be a show-off, you know what I mean. In its most basic essence, a spell is just that. It allows you to exert invisible control over something or someone.”

  “How do I defend against this?”

  “Hold on, Mr. Impatient. Let me tell you what a curse is and how it differs from a spell before we start talking about ways to defend against them. If a spell is like a choke-hold, a curse is like a disease. It attacks your body and mind. A spell is not always destructive, but a curse is, in all cases and without exception. That’s the basic difference.”

  “So those dunes over there—”

  “Are the result of a spell. Most likely, this spell is exerting pressure on the sand and preventing it from shifting. But it’s not harmful to you or me or anyone else.”

  “I see. But you said Baal can see me if I stand there.”

  “While you were in Metranos, did you see a weird place with oozing green substance?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “That’s the Arayat; the Spell World. It’s actually not only for spells, but for curses as well. Every spell and every curse in our world grows like a living thing over there. So, the spell controlling these dunes exists in the Spell World. Once you set a spell on something, you can use the spell as a window to see the thing itself in our world.”

  “If the spell is in the Arayat, how does it affect something here?”

  “If you know what your target is ahead of time, you take a tiny something from it, like the strand of a someone’s hair, or a shard from the object you want to influence, or in the case of these dunes, a bit of sand, and mix it with a bit of spell-potion to create a spell-seed that you then plant in the Arayat. Once it’s grown, the spell takes effect on the target.”

  “And if you don’t have a token from the target?”

  “The Temple found ways to create spells for when the target is not known. They use something called the Arayatian stone as a substitute for the sample of the target. The Shogols are one of the Temple’s priestly orders. They’re known as spell-herders because they grow spells and curses for the benefit of the other orders.”

  Ahiram gave Sheheluth a dubitative look. “Wait, why herders and not spell-gardeners? After all, they’re growing something that behaves like a plant, no? That doesn’t make sense.”

  Sheheluth smiled. “It doesn’t until it does. The spells and curses are planted, yes, but they’re strange things. Sometimes, they take off—they move on their own—and so you’ve got to herd them back.”

  “So those things are alive, like animals?”

  Sheheluth shook her head. “Not really. It’s the Arayatian soil. It’s constantly shifting and moving, a bit like slush or mud, but its movements are very fine, so sometimes, it can cause one spell in an entire field to move away.”

  “Weird,” Ahiram said.

  “You can say that.”

  Ahiram pursed his lips. “Growing spells and curses … this business sounds slow and inefficient.”

  “I’m not trying to turn you into a magician. A spell-seed is planted inside a field of blood, and a well-trained high priest of Baal can get this magic to maturity in minutes, if necessary.”

  Listening to Sheheluth lecture him—when she looked no older than thirteen or fourteen years old—felt odd, but the Silent was thrilled. Sheheluth had just lifted a curtain on a world he knew existed but knew very little about. Afraid that she might end the conversation too soon, he asked, “Tell me more about the difference between spells and curses.”

  Sheheluth nodded. “Spells can slow, quicken, or divert the natural order of things. For instance, if someone is moving, or wants to move, you can slow him down or speed him up, but you can’t use a spell to compel someone to move if he doesn’t want to do it or if he can’t. Now, a curse is a different matter. A curse attacks the natural structure of things. Think of it as an invisible disease. They are grown the same way, with one difference. You feed spells Arayatian water, the stuff you brought back with you from Metranos, but you feed curses human blood. The invocation prayers are also different.”

  “So you can’t force someone to fall in love with someone else?”

  “What a strange question,” Sheheluth said with a wry smile. “Why, do you have someone in mind?”

  Ahiram smirked. “I’d want you to fall in love with my horse, so he can whisk you some place far away, and I won’t have to put up with you.”

  “Look who’s talking. But really, unless someone has a natural predisposition to fall for someone else, you can’t force it. A spell acts like ale or wine. It removes your inhibition and prompts you to action.”

  Ahiram nodded. He now viewed spells and curses as a weapon that could be countered. That there were invisible forces acting from a distance was common knowledge. A scorpion or a snake could attack very suddenly, or someone could use poison to kill silently. A long-bow archer could kill someone from a great distance. There were ways to deal with all those weapons, and so there must exist ways to deal with spells and curses also. His Silent training let him see that just as he was able to combine multiple combat moves into a powerful sequence, there were probably ways to combine spells and curses.

  “Absolutely,” Sheheluth said when he asked her. “If you plant spells and curses by stacking them on top of one another, you create a spell-chain which will cause them to be triggered one after the other. If you plant them side by side, in separate holes but inside the same field of blood, then they will be triggered at the same time.”

  Ahiram crouched and dug a hole in the ground. He grabbed two pebbles. “Curse-seed and spell-seed,” he said while showing them to Sheheluth. She nodded. “So, I drop the curse-seed first, then the spell-seed on top of it and close the hole, is that it?”

  She nodded. “Say you want to curse a Kerta priest when he enters his hut. You create a curse-seed with a hair of the priest and drop it into a hole. Then, you capture a bit of the air inside the hut. Air from our world turns liquid in the Arayat. You mix it with a spell potion of resistance and dilute it sufficiently to render the spell almost benign. You plant that seed on top of the first one. When the Kerta priest steps inside the hut, he triggers the spell of resistance, but it’s so diluted, so weak, it won’t stop him from walking in. He might feel a sudden waft of air. In the Arayat, the spell is consumed and then the curse is triggered next.”

  “So, what if I have a token from the Kerta priest, couldn’t I curse him directly, instead of going the indirect route?”

  Sheheluth nodded. “The example I gave you is simplistic. At the very least, you’d want to direct the spell against the priest too, otherwise, a dog walking through the door could trigger it. You’d resort to this scheme if you can’t get a sample of the priest and you’re willing to curse anyone who walks in his h
ut.”

  “I see. You can’t reuse a spell or a curse then?”

  “No, but you can achieve a similar effect by digging a deeper hole and dropping an alternating sequence of spell and curse seeds. You could also use a conjoined field of blood with a triggering spell to refill that hole. That’s an advanced technique.”

  “I see, you can create limitless combinations of spells and curses. How do you defend against these things?”

  “By using spells of resistance and curses set against any curse and spell aimed at you. The spell is triggered when someone attacks you with a spell or a curse. It slows down their attack and allows you to unleash your curse against your attacker, who might have their own defensive spells. The one with the strongest and deepest layers wins. Kerta priests have protective layers protecting their legs, arms, hearts, mind, eyes, etc. They are a walking magic factory.”

  “That must require fields and fields of blood.”

  Sheheluth nodded. “Enough to keep a few Shogol priests busy. Outside of the Temple, no one appreciates the Shogols, but inside the Temple, they are the most sought-after priests. If not well maintained, these fields of blood decay and your protective layers can then backfire and attack you.”

  “It sounds dangerous.”

  “It is. Very dangerous. Mixing spells and curses creates unstable magic that can kill the magician during the incantation. But it’s required if you’re battling magicians who can sense traps; then you definitely want to deceive your opponents. Advanced magicians know how to link two or more different spell or cursefields together to create a key. Trigger the benign spells in the right order or combination, and you can walk through the door. Do it the wrong way and a curse is triggered.

  “I can appreciate all that,” Ahiram said, “But how can I fight against it without a Shogol priest?”

  “Use the candelabrum.”

  “The candelabrum? I figured it had powerful magic.”

  “Actually, no. It’s anti-magic.”

  “Huh, what do you mean?”