“It’s an object that respells magic. You can’t cast a spell on it and you can’t curse it, and if you try, you’ll get it to react.”
“Such things exist?”
“Yes. Your sword is another one.”
“Really? How does this anti-magic work? Does it grow in the Arayat?”
“I’m certain it’s alien to the Spell World. As to how it works, I doubt anyone knows.”
“Why?”
“Magical knowledge requires experience. A lot of it. There isn’t a zakiir for memorized magical recipes. As you know, you’re pretty much the only person who can lift the candelabrum, much less use it, so no one truly knows how it works.”
“I see. Still, how did you know that the candelabrum and the sword are anti-magic objects?”
Sheheluth chuckled. “It’s much simpler than you think: most everything in this world has an echo, called a khayal, in the Arayat. This echo is not a dim image of this world. It’s more like a jumble of things, as if someone took our world, turned all the colors into shades of gray, shook it, and dumped it inside the Spell World. It’s not a place anyone likes to wander in. You could quickly lose your sanity in there, especially when you meet your own echo.”
“Why?”
“Um … let’s just say that your echo is not nice. In fact, your echo in the Arayat is you stripped of any goodness. It’s all the evil in you, and you’d be surprised how much there is in every one of us. I’ve known some people who sought their echo to purify themselves. From their echo, they glean the evil in their hearts and work on extirpating it. When your echo vanishes from the Spell World, you’ve reached a state of perfect purity.”
“But how do you know that my sword has no khayal, or echo?”
“Most things in this world are magically dull, so their echo is even duller. Your sword is brimming with energy, and its echo should shine brightly in the Realm of Echoes within the Spell World. You’d see it the way you’d see a star shine on a clear night. Your sword would shine like the moon if it had a khayal.”
Ahiram nodded. “I wonder if Noraldeen has an echo there.”
“She passed away. When you die, your echo dies with you. Anyway, your sword and that candelabrum have no echoes. Their power source is somewhere else. These objects would react to the presence of a spell or a curse. I’d bet you could even use them to pinpoint the location of the magic and learn to avoid it altogether.”
Ahiram nodded. My sword has done that frequently. I didn’t know I was avoiding spells or curses. “One more question,” he said, sensing that she was about to get up and leave. “What about the other object, you know, the one that I used to connect to the star.”
“What object?”
“The one you told me to use to draw power from the star.”
“I see,” she replied, but something in her tone implied she did not understand what he was talking about. “Let me think …” She closed her eyes and slumped a little as if briefly asleep. The impression lasted a very short moment. “You’re really slow, aren’t you?” she said, perking up with a pert smile. Her tone had become sarcastic and impatient.
She’s back to the old Sheheluth, the one I’ve known in Tanniin and Metranos.
“I thought you’d have found out by now. Anyway,” she added, “that object of yours is different. It’s the only thing I know of, which is present in the Arayat but which is not of the Arayat.”
“You mean it has an echo?”
“Precisely not. It seems to be in the Arayat while simultaneously being in our world, whole and complete. It’s a case of bilocation.”
“You’re not making sense, Sheheluth.”
“For a beginner such as yourself, I wouldn’t make sense,” she replied. “Right now, focus on the candelabrum. Figure out how to use it, and it’ll be the best thing that’ll happen to you in a good little while.”
“What are you talking about? You’re speaking in riddles once more.”
“Shush,” she said. “Listen …”
Ahiram focused his hearing on the outside and realized that all was silent. “The storm … it ended.” He jumped to his feet and bolted through the door, crossed the living area of the tent, and ran outside. The cold oasis was blanketed in snow. Overhead, the cloud was so low it hung mere feet above the palm trees, and the vortex in its center was only a short distance from the surface of the water. The Silent observed a procession approaching slowly while drums began a slow beat. Two rows of Desert Legion soldiers escorted a group of men, each carrying a child wrapped in a blanket. The children were slumped on their shoulders. They were followed by a group of women carrying jewelry, small animals, lamb skins, and other gifts. Closing the procession was a group of women dressed in black from head to toe. A black mask hid their features.
If I want to save these children, I had better think of something fast, thought Ahiram. I need a diversion.
“Do not even think about it.”
Ahiram turned around and noticed Darwiish standing behind him.
“I won’t let these children be sacrificed!”
“If the children are not taken up, the tribesmen will kill them and the women. In their rage and fury, they will kill us all. Is that what you want?”
Ahiram saw the men lay the unconscious children on a small wooden raft. The women placed their gifts next to them and kissed them on the forehead, then pushed the raft away. The Silent clenched his fists, barely able to control his anger, when his sword began to vibrate violently. Ahiram lifted his arm and the hilt landed in the palm of his hand.
“Don’t be foolish,” Darwiish snarled. Ahiram did not answer but kept staring at the water. Darwiish placed a hand on the Silent’s shoulder as though to say something, but Ahiram signaled for him to wait. “What is it?” asked Darwiish, who understood that Ahiram no longer had the intention of attacking the men. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” replied the Silent. “We’re in danger.”
Two bolts of greenish lightning hit the water, and fumes ascended from the small lake. Startled, the men and the women retreated, screaming in terror. Two dark creatures emerged from the water. Their heads were elongated like that of a grasshopper, their skin was ash-gray, and the wings on their backs resembled those of a bat. Their scaly tails terminated in razor-sharp fangs. They held each a gray sword from which black smoke rose. They shrieked like falcons, but at a higher pitch.
“What are those?” asked Ahiram. “Are they part of the sacrifice?”
“No. I’ve never seen them before,” Darwiish replied. His voice cracked and the blood had drained from his face. “I’ve never seen these creatures before. Have they come to disrupt the sacrifice?”
Ahiram quickly ran back to the tent, then returned and continued running toward the lake. The two creatures converged on the raft. Sheik Khawand shouted an order and a volley of arrows unleashed in answer, but before they could find their mark, they burst into flames and fell harmlessly in the water. Riders charged, spears in hand, but their horses panicked and transformed the charge into a stampede. The wind over the lake grew in strength. Thunder exploded in the clouds above and a downpour added to the confusion. The riders reformed their ranks and prodded their horses forward, but as soon as the horses would reach the edge of the water, they would neigh loudly, buck their riders, and pull away. Ahiram was a short distance from the lake when the two creatures shrieked excitedly and pointed their swords toward him.
The Sheik yelled another order and the riders quickly left the lake. The creatures stayed away from the raft, but kept their gaze on Ahiram.
They don’t want to come out of the water, observed Ahiram. He heard Khawand shout orders in a calm, controlled voice. A group of soldiers shielded the lake. That’s odd. Where did this coward find the courage to order his men like a true commander? The answer, as obvious as it was, shocked him. That’s because he knew these creatures were coming. This is a trap to get rid of me.
Darwiish screamed. “They’re closing in
on the sacrifice.”
The rat. If I let these creatures touch the children, the sheik will blame me. He sprinted and in a blink of an eye reached the two monsters.
“Huh?” exclaimed Darwiish, “how did he do that?”
Sheheluth, who had been standing with them, did not reply. She knew Ahiram had donned the shoes of bronze and, most likely, the belt of silver. Ahiram swung his sword at the monsters, forcing them away from the raft. The vortex accelerated and the strong wind pulled the raft to the middle of the lake. Noraldeen blocked the creatures’ counter-attack. They swiped their tails and the Silent avoided the razor-sharp extruding bones by a hair before parrying another attack. I have to get rid of these tails. His foes attacked simultaneously. Ahiram feigned to block the closest sword, but instead, evaded it by stooping down and moving back in one fluid movement. The tails followed the swords as expected, and Ahiram was ready for them. He cut off one, sending it to shore, where it wriggled like a fish out of the water. The wounded beast shrieked violently and swung its sword while its companion retracted its tail back to safety. Ahiram blocked, then parried. Noraldeen shattered the enemy sword just as Ahiram heard the whiz of the other beast’s tail behind him. He bent back, holding his sword vertically with both hands and sliced the tip of the tail, which then fell into the water. Not waiting, Ahiram straightened his position and swung his sword toward the beast, who tried to counter the attack and ended up shattering his sword against the Silent’s blade. Enraged, the two creatures bared their fangs and jumped. That’s a suicidal move, thought the Silent. Two fatal blows sent them back reeling. They were about to fall in the water when the vortex sucked them up and lifted them off. The lame bodies disappeared in a whirlwind. Ahiram stood in the water. The vortex became more violent. It’s trying to lift the raft with the children!
At that moment, Ahiram forgot Darwiish’s warning, and he could no longer remembered what the Desert Legion might do if the sacrifice failed. Instead, he saw himself in Hoda’s boat, scared and lonely. Anger surged from the depth of his soul. He sheathed his sword and retrieved the candelabrum from his bag. As he drew closer to the raft, a blinding white light shot out of the vortex. Instinctively, Ahiram raised the candle holder with both hands and the lightning bolt hit one of the branches. The bolt died instantly. A second, stronger bolt struck a branch, and Ahiram felt his bones rattle, but he was unharmed. Ahiram trudged forward, holding the candelabrum, inching closer to the raft. It’s working, the candelabrum is neutralizing these bolts, or whatever they are. If I can reach the raft… Pain exploded in his back, throwing him off his feet. He fell into the water, still gripping the candelabrum. The lake was relatively shallow so he quickly found his footing, but when he broke through the water to catch his breath, he came face to face with an angry Darwiish holding a staff.
“I won’t let you jeopardize the lives of everyone for those children!” the old man yelled. “You’ve no right to dispose of their lives as you see fit.”
“But they are children,” Ahiram shouted back. “If we don’t save the most innocent, how can we hope to ever stop this madness?”
Resolutely, he turned his back to the old man and raised the candelabrum once more. Darwiish lifted his staff to strike again but this time the Silent was ready. He swung around, grabbed the incoming staff, yanked it from the man’s hands, and threw it in the water. “Go away, Darwiish,” he growled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The old man opened two helpless hands and looked at the Silent with tears streaming from his face. He fell to his knees in the water. “I beg of you, do not do this. You’ll kill us all.”
Ahiram gazed at the broken man. “What’s the point of living if we let innocent lives pay the price?”
A powerful gust of wind lifted them in the air and tossed them several feet away from the lake. Dazed, Ahiram forced himself to get up.
“Stand down or die.”
He turned and saw a tribesman raising his blade next to a cluster of archers with arrows notched at the ready.
“Can’t you see? You’re killing your own children!”
“How is this any of your business?” the leader barked. “Who are you to tell us how to live our lives? Are you a god who has come to tell us what we must and mustn’t do with what is ours?”
A deep ululation rose from the belly of the lake. Ahiram turned around and saw that the lake and the cloud had become one big mass of water spinning at great speed. The wind blowing in his face was so powerful that he knew it would stop any incoming arrow, and he could barely move because of it. As he thought about using the candelabrum in union with the tile, the vortex suddenly vanished, leaving behind the mass of water from the lake hanging momentarily up in the air. It fell back with a loud thud, smacked the ground in a thunderclap, and sent concentric waves that splashed the shore before receding. When at last the water settled, an empty raft floated on the surface of the lake. The children were gone.
The women who had offered their children shouted with joy. At last, they were free. The sheik would give them enough gold to last a lifetime. They would be able to live without the collar of slavery around their necks. All around him, the members of the tribes were rejoicing in their newly found wealth; the water would be there for at least another year until another sacrifice would be called for. Ahiram sheathed his sword and stomped toward the sheik’s tent, prowling like a tiger about to devour its prey. Sheheluth lunged in front of him, barring the way.
“Leave them alone, Ahiram,” she ordered.
“I am going to give this sheik a piece of my mind.”
“No, you’re not. It would be senseless.”
“She’s right, Ahiram,” Darwiish said, joining her. “Leave them be.”
Ahiram glared at the old man. “I don’t understand you, Darwiish. If anyone should be angry, it should be you, but you’re defending them. How could you collaborate with them when you have lost your brother to this madness?”
“I’m one man. What can I do?”
He looked at Darwiish, who stood before him, tired and weary, and he had pity on him. Ahiram sighed. “Fine,” he said, “I’ll bide my time but I promise you, they have not heard the last word from me. Announce that we are to leave right away.”
“But we have to wait for the festivities…”
“Go! Now!” he yelled.
“Fine, I’m going, I’m going,” Darwiish replied hurriedly.
“Sheheluth, tell Balid to make ready, we’re leaving.”
Two hours later, the caravan had departed from Teshir. The oasis was still visible on the horizon. The lake had swelled and filled with fresh water. A breeze stirred its surface, forming wavelets that eventually lapped the strange tail of the monster. The tail jerked—the way a hand pricked by a needle would—and burrowed into the sand with extraordinary strength. The tail had disappeared, and a small ripple of sand covered the hole where it was buried. Nothing else moved. The water became still once more. Across the lake, the newly freed women were celebrating.
Ten days later, as the caravan finally reached the northwestern edge of the Kingdom of the Marada and was about to leave the desert, Ahiram, who had been riding one of Balid’s steeds, pulled out the whistle Foosh had given him from his pocket. “Khawand,” he muttered, “I hope you are riding my horse right now.” He blew in the whistle. It produced an almost imperceptible sound. Ahiram blew twice more.
Nearly sixty miles away, Issam Ben Jureish held a fresh apple in a shaking hand and slowly moved it closer to the Entalor. The horse snorted derisively and stomped his feet before an empty bucket.
Issam Ben Jureish, picked up the bucket and hooked it snuggly on the horse’s saddle. “Please, noble steed,” the man begged, “accept this apple from my hand, or my master will flog me.”
The horse neighed and raised his head away from the man. He stomped his hoof next to the bucket. Twice Issam had tried feeding him from his hand, but the horse had responded by trying to bite and kick him. He would only accept food from the
bucket, which enraged Sheik Khawand. Tongues were already wagging that he was not man enough to break a horse.
“Please … please …” muttered Issam, who stood with his eyes closed, a pained expression on his face. His hands were raised toward the horse like a supplicant with an offering before a god. He felt a whiff of wind and recoiled, thinking the horse was about to bite him. He opened his eyes and gasped; the horse was galloping away so fast, he knew no steed would be able to catch up to him. “What kind of horse is that?” Within minutes, the stallion had disappeared from sight, and Issam Ben Jureish knew he was going to pay dearly for the animal’s disappearance.
The caravan had set up camp in a meadow. At last, they had reached the end of the desert and were now a day’s travel from the border of the Kingdom of the Marada. Ahiram was sitting under a gnarly oak tree.
“Look,” Sheheluth said quietly, “your horse is back.”
He stood up. “Where?”
“Straight ahead,” she said pointing at the horizon. “He’s moving faster than the wind.”
“I don’t see it.”
“What are we looking at?” asked Alfi, the professor of stoicism, who happened to stroll by with Derict, the teacher of philosophy.
“My horse,” Ahiram replied distractedly.
“Your horse?” said Balid, who had a keen ear. “Your horse is back? Where is it?”
Nothing seemed to move on the horizon. Ahiram wondered if the heat had confused Sheheluth, but she looked at him and pointed toward the same spot with insistence. “Look over there,” she said. “That’s your horse.” Progressively, a speck grew until finally he could make out his horse galloping faster than an arrow could fly.
Balid held his hand and counted silently. “Amazing. This horse is at least five times faster than the fastest steed. I’ve never seen the likes of him. Young man,” he said with a sultry smile, “I’m willing to exchange your horse for five of my carpets.”
Both Foosh and Sheheluth stared at Balid with reproachful eyes. He wondered what he had said wrong when eventually, he realized that Ahiram had not yet recovered from the loss of the children. Balid decided it would be best if he busied himself elsewhere.
The Wretched Race (Epic of Ahiram Book 3) Page 55