Wrath of the Urkuun (Epic of Ahiram Book 2)

by Murano, Michael Joseph

  “But, Father, Tyrulan is big. I don’t mean like this garden, but more like the idea of bigness.” A quick glance at her father and she realized she was losing him. “The words of the world fill Tyrulan. How could I possibly—”

  “Ah, yes. Good observation. Remember when you rescued Vily? You were in Tyrulan and you somehow figured it was Vily yes? Then, you came back to our world and you ended up near her, yes?”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “I see, Father. You think that when I enter Tyrulan, I will be close to words spoken in this garden, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “This means,” she added mischievously, “I could spy on all the trades taking place here and make a few gold coins in profit, heh, heh, heh.” She rubbed her hands with great satisfaction, the way she had seen many a zakiir do after a good deal. A quick glance at her father told her to stop; he did not appreciate the joke.

  “Still, Father, there are too many conversations in this garden—”

  “Conversations, yes, but not repeated words,” he corrected gently. “If what you say is true, you should be able to see a cluster of things that look identical. I bet they will look like a small forest of indistinguishable trees. You need only reach this forest to know what I will be saying.”

  “This test is worthy of an Empyrean, Father. But, I do not know what the plants in Tyrulan are saying.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I get ideas in my head when I stand next to these plants. I don’t actually hear the words.”

  Corintus thought about it for a while. “Well, Aquilina, why do you think words take the shape of plants, grass, shrubs, and trees? Why don’t they show up like dogs, cats, or chickens?” She laughed at the thought, but had to admit she did not know why they appeared that way. “Think, daughter, what do Empyreans like?”

  “They like the forest, the trees, the plants …” It dawned on her. “I see, so you think Tyrulan is Empyrean?”

  “I don’t know, but what would an Empyrean do when standing before a beautiful tree?”

  “Touch it?” replied Aquilina. And then she understood what her father was inferring. “So, you think, if I touch the plants in Tyrulan, they will speak to me?”

  “Not speak to you, but you may hear what they are saying.”

  Excited, Aquilina clapped her hands and did a few pirouettes. “I am ready,” she said. She looked at her father and smiled. He is smarter than I thought. Ordinarily, Corintus gave an impression of a daydreamer who loved to talk about simple facts, seemingly missing important clues. Had she had the occasion to meet another Silent, she would have understood his demeanor to be part of their standard training: “Appear harmless, avoid drawing attention to yourself so you may be free to act.”

  “Good,” said her father getting up. “I will go now and sit by the fountain. It is far enough from where you are standing so you will not hear me whisper. As soon as I am seated, you can go to Tyrulan and find out what I am repeating.”

  Getting in and out of Tyrulan had become much easier. She only needed to close her eyes, empty her mind, take a few deep breaths, and she would cross over. Aquilina opened her eyes in Tyrulan and quickly climbed to survey the landscape.

  After only a brief search, she found a cluster of identical bright shrubs that were pulsating quickly. As soon as one vanished, another would take its place. That’s Father’s sentence.

  Just then, in the distance, she glimpsed Arkélad. The massive burning tree was in the midst of a firestorm. She said, “Run,” and found herself riding rapids that moved her at a dizzying speed—assuming she was moving at all—to her destination. She said, “Stop,” and the rapids vanished. Let’s see if Father is right. Timidly, she laid a finger on the fiery trunk and felt such overwhelming grief and deep longing that she burst into tears. Father was right, she thought, but how sad are these words.

  The voice’s inflection told Aquilina that the one who spoke was a lonely young man, aloof and angry. He is seeking someone or something. She wanted to console him the way she had consoled Vily. Despite the flames, she gripped the trunk and willed to cross over but ended up with a searing pain, as if the power in the young man’s words stopped her from going to him. No other words in Tyrulan had thus far behaved this way. After several attempts, she stepped back in frustration.

  Father! Oh no, I forgot about him.

  Swiftly, she went to the cluster of bright shrubs, touched one of them, and broke into a giggle that lit the Tyrulian skies. She closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, she found herself standing next to her father by the fountain.

  Seeing her appear out of nowhere, Corintus jumped and almost knocked his head against the marble fountain.

  “Where did you come from?” he asked, confused.

  “From Tyrulan.”

  Nervously, Corintus scanned the garden half expecting to see High Riders running with swords drawn.

  “All right then,” he whispered. “What was I saying?”

  “Oméléya tu ovo marinaya,” she said. Unable to hold back, she burst into laughter.

  “So it is true, you can hear and travel in the land of words.”

  “Do you believe me now, Father?” She laughed again, until tears streamed down her cheeks.

  He nodded. “Yes, I do. Why are you laughing?”

  She hugged and kissed him. At last, her father believed her. As they walked back toward the palace, Aquilina described Tyrulan in detail. She had been relieved to confide in her father and told him everything she had known about this strange space, but for some obscure reason she omitted Arkélad. He had listened intently and in complete silence. As they were about to step inside the palace, he asked her again why she laughed when she told him what he had been saying.

  “Because,” she had said in a giggle, “you said, I love you, my precious cow. That’s what Oméléya tu ovo marinaya means. Mother says Oméléya tu ova marinéya, which means I love you, my little darling, but I understood what you were trying to say, Father.”

  That exchange with her father was etched in her memory. Thinking about it brought a smile to her face despite her dripping wet dress. As each drop of water splashed on the Tyrulian ground below, it produced an evanescent pink-freckled blue plant that looked oddly like a candle. She felt bad for vanishing from her room the way she had, but she needed to be sure, absolutely certain that her enemy was no longer in Tyrulan.

  High over the flora she stood still, watching and waiting. Will he scream again? Is he still here? She shivered from fatigue, for she had been exerting herself for two weeks now, helping the young man behind Arkélad. It started when a young woman had wanted him dead. Aquilina had heard her distinctly say, “Kill him.” He had thrown an object in self-defense that, in Tyrulan, took the shape of a small cone with a fat tip. A small blade or an arrow, had realized the young girl. As the object crossed the air, the sound it made appeared as an icy blue streak. Aquilina saw a tight net around the dark green shrub representing the young woman. The net is too tight for the weapon to cut through. Aquilina touched the net and whispered, “Open.” The mesh loosened. With one hand, she guided the bright blue trail through the net. Deep in the mines, during the Game of Silver, Ahiram had just thrown his dart at Hiyam and Aquilina had broken through the protective spell that should have prevented the dart from reaching Hiyam’s neck.

  Then, she heard Ahiram when he had just completed the Game of Silver. Feeling desperately lonely and disheartened over what he had done to Prince Olothe, he had said, “I will always be alone.” Instinctively, Aquilina had gripped the tree and whispered back, “You are not alone. I am with you.” Once more, a searing pain flooded her senses. It shot through her eyes, momentarily blinding her. She did not know that Ahiram had heard her.

  Her desire to speak with him turned into mounting frustration when we he would not return the favor. Instead of his voice, she would hear a whooshing sound, as if he preferred to sleep and snore rather than converse with her. Impulsively—and to punish him—she start
ed calling him Snoring Man.

  Later, at the start of the Game of Gold, Ahiram had stood precariously on the shoulders of two athletes while surrounded by a ring of fire and had shot his dart toward a cluster of stalactites. She had guided his dart to its target.

  These experiences had left her giddy. It did not matter that no one could witness what she did, for Empyreans disliked public displays of valor. Snoring man was safe, and that was all that mattered. Then, the enemy surfaced. When she heard his voice the first time, she nearly fainted from fright; it sounded like a giant wave about to swallow Tyrulan. This was when the urkuun mounted his attack against the athletes while they were climbing the Pit of Thunder. Her fear turned to anger and she became determined to stop the enemy, but it vanished.

  Then, during the Game of Meyroon, she witnessed her friend’s fall into dark waters, which appeared as a hollow pipe full of raging “noise” in Tyrulan. She had seen him fall in the water, and the water rushed into an enclosure that appeared as a subterranean hole streaked by bright filaments. But Aquilina could see a way out: a passage that looked like a tangled vine swirling upward. “Up,” she had said, directing her words at the drowning young man, but he banged his head against the roof of the siphon in the maelstrom. She jumped into the Tyrulian hole, touched Arkélad, and repeated the command. This time, he managed to find the exit, but she was suddenly sucked into the dark waters and nearly drowned in his place. In extremis, she managed to cross back into Tyrulan where searing pain welcomed her. Drenched, frozen, and aching, she refused to leave until she saw the fiery tree flare in the distance. Elated, she forced herself to move and reached the tree in time to hear the young man utter a word unlike any other. Ahiram had just called the tile by its name, “Taw.” The word he spoke lit Tyrulan from one end to another, nearly blinding her. She felt a rush of power flow through her like nothing she had experienced before. That all happened when the one she called “her enemy” spoke words of power and command in Tyrulan and for the past three weeks, she had been waging a secret, protracted battle against him. Whenever he tried to speak, she would order his words to stop growing and they would reluctantly obey her. She could not stop him from speaking but she continued to stunt the power and extent of his control. This enraged her opponent who began seeking her with words of despair and destruction that affected her deeply. Still, she was a fighter, not one about to give up. She began spending long hours in Tyrulan, fighting him with the determination of an Empyrean warrior and the battle dragged, sapping her energy away. He has not weakened, she had thought. Where does he get this energy?

  Earlier that day, her foe filled Tyrulan with dark words of power and overwhelming fury. So vicious were they, they silenced every other word around them. Exhausted, her mind wandered, seeking a place of refuge, a place where she could be safe. The memory of her Father repeating that funny sentence below the fountain in the garden popped in her mind. She closed her eyes and when she opened them, she fell in the basin of that fountain in a grand splash that raised a correspondingly grand outcry from the dignitaries and merchants of Gordion.

  They must not see me, she had thought, and she vanished from view, back into Tyrulan where she came face-to-face with the words of commands. Exhausted and at the end of her strength, Aquilina knew she could not continue the fight alone. Impulsively, she gave an order, “Tyrulan, speak against him.”

  Immediately, hundreds, then thousands upon thousands of words had risen from the Tyrulian soil. They converged on the dark words of the being of power, surrounded them, forming a deafening and chaotic barrier. The dark being of power reeled in fury, trying to disentangle itself from the tight web of voices, and after a long fight—at least it seemed long to Aquilina—it retreated. Her little trick had succeeded. Relieved that she had stopped the attack, she returned to her room exhausted and fell on onto her bed. Unwittingly, she had brought with her a bubble of water from the fountain. The water fell, scaring Vily, but the young princess was too tired to hear her friend’s cry. Aquilina was too young to know the toll the fight had taken on her, and did not yet realize that her extended exposure in Tyrulan had nearly killed her.

  Now standing over the Tyrulian landscape, she searched for the words of fury. I must be sure, she thought. I cannot leave Tyrulan to this monster. For the first time, she was afraid in Tyrulan and wanted to confront her fears. I must know. She walked toward the spot where the scream of the urkuun had erupted. There it is. She looked at an ashen forest of thorny trees. Their size was beyond anything she had seen before. As she craned her head back to see their tops, she shivered at the thought of the creature that had uttered these words: These are words—words that stand like gigantic thorny trees. She drew closer, and one of the trees, lithe as a whip, lashed at her. Instinctively, Aquilina averted her face, raised her hand before her and said, “No.” She did not hear her own voice but instead saw a lightning bolt issue forth from her mouth that hit the tree. The ugly thorny tree recoiled like a serpent and lashed at her once more with greater ferocity. The other trees followed suit, and the little girl thought she was fighting a many-headed, giant serpent. She could not say how long the fight had gone on, but she began to feel very tired.

  Just then, a beautiful rose sprouted at her feet. It glowed joyfully, and its light gave her strength. Instinctively, she touched it.

  “It’s a trap,” said a voice stemming from the rose. “These serpent-trees are words of power. If you hear them, you will not be able to leave Tyrulan on your own.” The rose dissipated quickly as other sounds did in Tyrulan. The voice was kind and strong, and she trusted it.

  I am not leaving these ugly words in Tyrulan.

  “Faraway and up.” Instantly, she lifted and floated high, looking at the monstrous creature down below. “Fire,” she commanded with great determination, “Burn.” Tyrulan erupted in flames. Oh no, I meant to say burn these trees. Now everything is burning!

  People in and around the Fortress of Hardeen—farmers, merchants, and shepherds—experienced a sudden and unexplained lapse in memory. Conversations were abruptly interrupted, and people were momentarily confused. Some thought Arika, the goddess of good health, had sneezed; others assumed Tanniin had bellowed from the void to which Baal had confined him. Still others believed Tiamat, the earth goddess, was stirring. A wave of thin filament flooded the Tyrulian spot where the burned-up trees once stood. In Tyrulan, a thick dense forest sprouted, consisting of one sentence repeated thousands upon thousands of times: “What was I saying?”

  Aquilina felt dizzy and weak. She knew she had to leave. She closed her eyes, dropped down, and landed back in her bed.

  “Aquilina!”

  She opened her eyes and smiled weakly. “Hello Mother, hello Father. It’s always nice to see you.”

  She closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

  “When an Empyrean weds outside of her kin, she changes allegiance. She is no longer a servant of the empress, she becomes a servant of her marriage-not her husband. The empress is a symbol for the endurance of the Empyrean Kingdom, and it is the kingdom that an Empyrean serves selflessly. When she marries outside of her kin, her marriage becomes her kingdom, her purpose, and her end. Nothing else matters.”

  –Diplomatic Notes of Uziguzi, First Adviser to Her Majesty Aylul Meir Pen, Empress of the Empyreans.

  “Do not fall asleep, Aquilina,” urged Corintus, as he lifted his daughter to an upright position.

  “But Father, it is sooo late,” complained Aquilina, “and I’m sooo tired.”

  “Amaréya, hold her. Do not let her fall asleep, or else we may lose her again.” He ran to the door and yelled, “Martha!” The old maid, who was sitting by the door, jumped in fright. “Oh, sorry Martha, could you please bring food? Aquilina is hungry.”

  “Yes, Master.” She hurried down the corridor and as she reached the main staircase, she met Drobna, on his way up with two hooded figures.“My, oh my, it is finally happening,” whispered Martha, going down the stairs as fast as her st
iff legs allowed.

  Earlier, Drobna had left the palace grounds disguised as a rich merchant from Gordion. He had crossed Royal Avenue and went into the exclusive district of Rithar, and walked past the mansions of the wealthy noblemen and merchants. He wore a diamond insignia on his chest—the highest distinction of the Merchant Guild. As he passed the impeccably manicured lawns and pavilions, the slaves who toiled in the gardens, prostrated themselves when they saw him. He then crossed Thontar Avenue and reached the eastern edge of Rithar, and instead of crossing the bridge over the Hent River, he went down to the docks where a covered barge waited for him.

  “You’re late,” grumbled a woman so tanned and wrinkled one would think she had seen the first day of creation. A gray apron covered her from the shoulders down, and she smelled of fish and herbs.

  “Don’t mind me, Gilna,” said Drobna as he stepped quickly inside the barge. “It’s going to happen soon. Master Corintus is ready.”

  “About time.” She let loose a strident whistle, and six young men got busy moving the barge away from the docks and upstream. “About time. Now, where to?”

  “The caravans. You’ll wait for me at the pier, and we’ll have two more passengers to bring back.”

  Gilna grunted. Neither spoke the rest of the way. Progressively, the simpler structures of the poor replaced the four-story-high buildings of the middle class. After a mile-long strip, they reached Orol, the City of Lepers. Orol had been, in times past, the capital of a much smaller Teshub, and Gordion had supplanted it six hundred years ago. The old capital had decayed into a ruin where now only lepers lived. Drobna and his crew glimpsed them fishing by the shore. At the sight of the barge, the sickly figures hid their faces.

  A few miles southeast from Orol, two tributaries of the Hent swelled the river, turning it into a lake where the caravans’ port lay. Hundreds of barges were docked while thousands of slaves loaded and unloaded wide assortments of livestock and goods. This commercial zone was reserved for merchants judged unfit to do business within the capital.