by Farah Zaman
THE MOON
OF MASARRAH
FARAH ZAMAN
The Moon of Masarrah
Second Edition
Copyright © 2018 Farah Zaman
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Niyah Press books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use.
For information, please contact the author: [email protected]
https://www.farahzamanauthor.com
First edition 2006
The Treasure at Bayan Bluffs
ISBN: 978-1-945873-10-2
Design by NIYAH PRESS
Praise and Gratitude to
the One who made all things possible.
I dedicate this book to my family
for their unswerving support,
and to my beta readers
for their invaluable insight and input.
And for all bookworms,
who have long discovered the greatest treasures
are buried in the pages of a book!
Happy reading!
Prologue
The night was dark, yet full of shadows. The Captain stood still in the great hall of the house, a canvas bag clutched in his hand. His heart hammered in his chest, overwrought with fatigue and fear. Not that he was a man given to fear easily. Many were the times he had looked death in the face aboard his ship, tossed and turned mercilessly upon the wrathful seas. Through somber storms and smiling suns, he had passed endless days and nights, and had come to love the sea with a fierce affection.
The fear that gripped the Captain now was of a different kind. It was fear that came from finding an empty house, one that was usually bustling with the life and laughter of his loved ones. Where was his family?
His ship had sailed in on a strong wind that evening as the sun had set upon a calm and gentle sea. Standing on deck, he had leaned over the rails, the crimson hues of the dying sun causing his red beard to glow like fire as he had stared at the mass of land looming on the horizon. When he had bowed his head during the sunset prayer, his heart had overflowed with gratitude that once again, the Yuhanza had returned safely to land.
But his joy had been short-lived. No sooner had they dropped anchor when they found themselves in the midst of a nightmare. The distant sound of gunfire and the rising plumes of dark smoke over the city had quickly filled their breasts with horror. The Captain had run frantically all the way to his house, desperate to make sure that all was well with his family. Cold silence greeted him now when so many times before it had been joyous smiles and a warm welcome. What had become of his family?
As the Captain placed the bag upon a nearby table, he recalled the precious package and the sheet of paper within. He should conceal them before venturing out again. Lighting a candle, he first hid the precious package before turning his attention to the sheet of paper. It bore the words he had carefully composed during his sojourn at sea and as he stashed it away, he fervently prayed that his family was safe, and would once more enjoy their customary game.
He returned to the great hall, his feet dragging wearily and the solitary candle flickering in his hand. Setting the candle on the table next to his bag, he was about to extinguish it and go outside when the door of the great hall suddenly creaked open. He spun around, wondering if he would see the face of friend or foe. In the light of the candle, he saw a tall man wearing a mask that covered his face, leaving exposed his dark, burning eyes. The Captain felt a flicker of unease as the intruder closed the door and entered the house.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “And what do you want?”
“I want the diamond,” the man hissed, his eyes glittering fierily above his mask. “Where is it?”
The Captain stared at him in shock. “How do you know of the diamond? I haven’t told a soul about it.”
“You’re not as clever as you think you are,” the masked man sneered. “Now give it to me.”
“I will not be coerced into giving what’s mine,” the Captain replied. “If you want it that badly, you can buy it from me.”
“I have no time for games, you arrogant fool,” the masked man snarled. The next moment, he pulled out a curved bronze dagger stained with blood and pointed it at the Captain. Betrayal felt like bitter medicine on the Captain’s tongue as he stared at the familiar weapon. His own dagger, an exact replica of the one that the man brandished, lay inside his bag on the table. Cold fingers of fear crept down the Captain’s spine as he realized his danger. He was entirely at the mercy of the masked man unless he could get hold of his own dagger somehow.
“Not so brave now, are you?” the intruder jeered. “Now where’s the diamond?”
“In my bag,” the Captain replied as inspiration came to him. “Let me get it.”
As he reached into his bag and grabbed his dagger, the intruder gave a ferocious snarl and sprang at him like a beast of prey. The two men grappled together, each trying to wrestle the other’s dagger away. Across the floor they struggled, desperation lending strength to their limbs so that neither showed any signs of yielding. Like a wild animal, the masked man leaned forward and dug his teeth viciously into the Captain’s forearm. As the pain radiated up his arm, the Captain’s grip on his dagger loosened, sending it clattering to the ground, and causing his adversary to finally gain the upper hand.
With a cry of triumph, the masked man lifted his bloodstained dagger high into the air. Then he brought it down, thrusting it forcefully into the Captain’s breast. The Captain staggered from the sheer savagery of the blow, crying out in agony as the sharp blade bit deep into his flesh. He swayed unsteadily for a few moments before his legs buckled beneath him and he fell to the ground, clutching at the hilt protruding from his chest.
As the strength left his body, he was powerless against the invading fingers that searched his cloak and his bag, seizing his dagger and leaving the murderous one buried in his chest. He knew he was dying as he felt his life’s blood slowly ebbing out of his body. Hovering between light and darkness, he listened to the masked intruder searching for the precious package. At last, he gave up the search, kicking the Captain in a rage before storming out of the great hall.
The Captain’s lips moved silently as he affirmed the faith he had embraced as a young man. He was not afraid of death, but he hated to die all alone, worrying about the fate of his family. In a fog of agony, he saw a sudden light coming towards him. It must be the Angel of Death, he thought, coming to seize my soul. He steeled himself for what was about to come but as the light drew nearer, he heard a piercing cry.
“Papa!” the voice shrieked. “Papa!”
It was the voice of Yusuf, his young son, carrying a candle in his hand. It was not the Angel of Death as yet. Filled with a sudden urgency, the Captain took an invigorating breath and spoke in his mother tongue.
“Yusuf,” he gasped. “Where is…mother…and…sisters?”
“They’re hiding in the woods, Papa,” the boy replied, as he set the candle on the ground. “But you…what has happened to you?” he asked in a frightened voice as he crouched beside his father.
“Going…to…die,” the Captain whispered as he fought against the descending darkness.
“Die?” Yusuf repeated in bewilderment. “No, you can’t die. You mustn’t die,” he broke into painful sobs, unmindful of the blood that soaked into his clothes as he threw his arms around his father.
“Take…care…of…mother…and sisters,” the Captain’s voice became fainter as
he struggled for breath.
“I will, Papa,” the boy wept, his tears mingling with his father’s blood. “I will.”
Gathering the last of his strength and with the bitter taste of blood in his mouth, the Captain clutched Yusuf’s hand and told him where he had hidden the precious package.
“Diamond… hidden…in…house?” Yusuf repeated, unable to grasp the significance of his father’s words.
The Captain opened his mouth to speak again but he was now beyond the power of speech. The encroaching darkness closed in on him and a rattling sound emerged from his throat. His eyes became fixed before closing slowly as he passed into the realm of the unseen. Then he was still and silent in the arms of his son.
Chapter One:
Bayan House
Zaid Alkurdi came awake slowly in the back of the silver Mitsubishi Outlander. In the midst of his jumbled dreams, he had heard his mother’s voice. He straightened up in his seat, wincing as his stiff muscles protested against the sudden movement. Picking up the book and the half-eaten bag of chips lying beside him, he crammed them into his backpack before staring out at the traffic-laden corniche and the long stretch of blue water adjoining it.
“Are we there yet?” mumbled his younger sister Zahra, as she too sat up and blinked sleepily.
“Not yet,” their mother replied from the front passenger seat where she was sitting next to their father, Professor Alkurdi, who was at the wheel. “But we’re almost there.”
We’re finally arriving at Bayan House, Zaid thought. It was the childhood home of his father’s close friend, Dr. Adil Horani. The two men, both hailing from the country of Midan, had become good friends while studying in the United States many years ago. After completing his degree, Professor Alkurdi had gone on to pursue a doctorate in history at one of the foremost universities in England while Dr. Horani had remained in the United States to study medicine.
Both men had gotten married around the same time, Professor Alkurdi to a young Midanese woman born and raised in England and Dr. Horani to a young Egyptian woman raised in the United States. After fifteen years in England, Professor Alkurdi had finally returned to Midan two years ago with his family, having accepted a position as head of the history department at Crescent City University. Dr. Horani had remained in the United States and though they had kept in touch from time to time, the two men had not seen each for over sixteen years.
It came as a surprise to Professor Alkurdi when his old friend emailed that his four children were coming to spend the summer vacation at their grandfather’s home in Bayan Bay, and it would please him greatly if his dear friend’s children were to join them there. Zaid and Zahra had been delighted at the prospect, especially after learning that the oldest boy was fourteen like Zaid, and the only girl thirteen, like Zahra. Professor Alkurdi had accepted the invitation on their behalf and had worked out the details with the children’s grandfather, Yusuf Horani.
And here we are, Zaid thought, as the Mitsubishi exited the corniche and turned onto a winding tree-lined road . They had left their home in Crescent City that Saturday morning, expecting to arrive in the seaside city of Bayan Bay in the mid-afternoon. They had stopped twice along the way to eat lunch at a small roadside café and to offer the midday prayer at a mosque. After traveling halfway across Midan, Zaid was bored of being cooped up in the car. He had read a little along the way, but the motion of the car had soon sent him to sleep. We sure made good time, he thought, as he glanced at the clock on the dashboard and saw that it was almost three.
“We should see the house anytime now,” said Professor Alkurdi, and Zaid and Zahra peered out the windows eagerly as the van climbed up a sloping road. Dense rows of trees lined the sides while yellow wildflowers carpeted the edges. Halfway up the road, Zaid’s eyes widened as he stared upwards. Against the backdrop of deep blue skies in the afternoon sun, birds were circling in slow motion high above an imposing structure perched atop the bluffs. With its rectangular shape and square turrets, Zaid thought it looked more like a fortress than a house.
“Is that Bayan House?” Zahra stared at the impressive sight. “It’s very grand.”
“It sure is,” Zaid agreed.
“I didn’t realize it would be so high up on the cliffs,” Mrs. Horani commented. “It’s breathtaking.”
“Yes, it looks out into the Bayan Bay,” Professor Alkurdi remarked. “Most seamen like to live close to water. Both Adil’s father and grandfather were sailors. In fact, his grandfather was a famous captain in his time. He was born an Englishman and because of his red hair, became known as Captain Red Rafiq.”
“I bet there’s old jinns floating around here at night,” Zahra murmured dreamily.
“You’ve been watching too much Jinns of Jeopardy,” Mrs. Alkurdi chided, naming a popular television series. Zaid grinned. He knew that although she scoffed at it, his mother enjoyed looking at the creepy show.
The sloping road ended at wide-open iron gates set in a weathered fence cast of the same brown stone as the house. Professor Alkurdi drove through the gate and into a plain flagstone courtyard where a gray Toyota Land Cruiser, a black Honda pickup truck and a blue Land Rover were parked. After stepping out of the Mitsubishi and helping his father to unload their suitcases, Zaid glanced curiously around. The house was two stories high, the brown stone lending it an austere air. The courtyard was bare of trees and vegetation and was protectively encircled by the stone fence. Unfortunately, the fence also obscured what would have been a spectacular view of the bay to the right.
The front door of the house swung open and a tall, imposing man strode out. That must be Yusuf Horani, the grandfather, Zaid thought. They had learned that he was a widower in his late sixties and had no other children besides Dr. Horani. He came towards them, his stern-looking face weather-beaten, with lines crisscrossing at the corners of his eyes and mouth. With his pale green eyes, graying red hair and matching beard, his English ancestry was apparent.
A smile broke across his face as he greeted them. He shook Professor Alkurdi’s hand and embraced him warmly before turning to Zaid and doing the same. Nodding respectfully to Mrs. Horani and Zahra, he said, “Welcome to Bayan House. I hope you had a good journey.”
“Thank you, we did,” Mrs. Alkurdi replied.
“Come, let’s go inside,” he beckoned, helping Dr. Horani with one of the suitcases. “I’m sure you must be tired and hungry.”
As they headed to the front door, two young boys came dashing out from the side of the house. Above their heads flew a large bird which Zaid recognized as a seagull. The boys were identical twins about six years of age. They both had red hair and green eyes like their grandfather, with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of their noses and across their cheeks. They were wearing T-shirts and jeans and had identical cheeky grins on their faces. Zaid guessed that they must be the younger Horani children. He had not known that they were twins.
“This is Hassan and Hakeem,” Mr. Horani introduced them. “And that’s Gul, their new pet.”
The bird gave a loud squawk and one of the boys giggled and said, “Gul is saying hello to you.”
“You can hardly tell them apart,” Mrs. Horani shook her head in wonder as she looked at the delightful pair.
Zaid was watching the seagull. It stared right back at him, its head tilted to the side. Its plumage was white in color, with an unusual sprinkling of gray dots at the base of its tail feathers. With its webbed feet and stout black-tipped bill, it looked like a typical seagull.
They continued to the front door, Mr. Horani shooing Gul away, who flew off with an indignant squawk. They entered a great hall which had a comfortable, lived-in atmosphere that belied the bleak appearance of the outside. Sunlight filtered in through sets of casement windows at the front and side, softening the dark wall panels and spilling onto the thick Persian rug covering the wooden floor. In the center of the room were several co
mfortable sofas surrounding a long coffee table. A few pieces of calligraphy adorned the walls while an ancient light fixture hung from the ceiling. At the back was a grand staircase leading to the upper floor and at its base, a passageway leading to the left wing of the house.
After placing his sneakers on the shoe rack, Zaid watched with interest as a boy dressed in jeans and a blue striped shirt came through an archway at the back of the great hall, a young girl behind him. The boy was a tall, handsome youth with unruly black hair, a square determined jaw and twinkling black eyes. He and Zaid were of similar height and coloring, though Zaid’s face was longer and more prone to solemnity.
After the youth greeted them, Mr. Horani said, “This is Adam, my eldest grandson.”
“Welcome to Bayan House,” Adam smiled. “We’re glad to have you here,” he said in flawless Arabic.
The youth exuded such self-assurance that he seemed much older than his fourteen years. As he and Zaid sized each other up, he winked covertly and Zaid immediately knew that he was in the presence of a kindred spirit.
“And this is Layla, my granddaughter,” Mr. Horani said next, placing an affectionate hand on the young girl’s shoulder. Layla smiled and greeted them in Arabic too. She was wearing a black floral dress with a pink scarf and had green eyes like her twin brothers, and a pair of charming dimples in her cheeks.
A couple in their early fifties came through the archway next and greeted them. The woman was wearing allover black and was short and plump, with a smiling countenance. The man was muscular and heavyset, with curly dark hair and a small trim beard. Mr. Horani introduced them as Maymun and Luqman, who served as live-in housekeeper and handyman respectively.
“Come, come,” Maymun fussed. “You will join the family for afternoon tea. Don’t worry about your suitcases. Luqman will take them up.”