Wrath of the Urkuun (Epic of Ahiram Book 2)

by Murano, Michael Joseph

  Sarand came to the door, bringing with her the ravishing Adorant he had seen before.

  She roped her arm through his and whispered gently, “My dear Kalibaal, what brings you to me today?” The Adorant behind her chortled, and Kalibaal felt alive, strong, and invulnerable.

  “Sharr is asking to see you,” he answered.

  “Alone?”

  “I am not sure, My Lady.”

  Sarand looked into his eyes. “You are not lying, Kalibaal. I can see that. Did he say why?”

  Kalibaal shook his head. “I do not believe he knows of our plans. It may be unrelated.”

  Sarand fell silent for a short while. The young Adorant drew close and whispered a few words in Kalibaal’s ear causing his heart to race. He clenched his fists and tried his best to ignore her sultry words.

  “Do not mind Quinn, she is anxious to see if her new charms are working,” muttered Sarand, “and she is trying to impress me. Fine, let us be on our way. I suppose we cannot ignore Sharr’s summons.”

  Their walk back to the Temple was uneventful, but they grew concerned when a Shogol priest met them at the door.

  “Lord Sharr would like you to join him beneath the main altar. All other members of the Inner Council are waiting for you.”

  Sarand glanced at Kalibaal who avowed ignorance.

  “He told me it would just be the three of us.”

  Sarand and Kalibaal joined the remaining fourteen members of the Inner Council. Four were Shogol priests and another four where Kerta priests. There were three other Adorants besides Sarand, and three other Methodical priests besides Kalibaal. Sharr joined them and invited everyone to step with him onto a large shield held by four gold bolts. It had no markings and resembled the portal Tamri had used to cross into the Arayat. This was the transference platform and the council used it to ferry people or objects in and out of the Spell World. All who were present understood that Sharr was leading them into the Arayat, and by stepping onto the shield they were placing themselves in his hands.

  A moment later, they were hovering over a cultivated field within the Spell World. Sharr assumed the appearance of a two-headed bull with a human torso. “This, my dear friends, was the field where we grew our own version of the béghôm.”

  That’s right, thought Kalibaal, this does look familiar, but something is different now.

  “Is this the remnant of the béghôm?” asked one of the Kerta priests.

  “Indeed. I checked on this field two weeks ago and back then the béghôm was still alive, barely, but still alive. I have brought you all here to show you this.”

  Sarand followed Sharr’s bony finger. The high priest’s torso was discolored, his limbs appeared as dried up twigs, and his fingers looked like spider’s legs. She peered inside the ruined, empty fields. Gone were the slaves feeding the field with their blood. Gone also, were the curses protecting the creature which stood frigid as stone; a sign of imminent death. Sarand focused on the base of the dead creature. What is this?

  Kalibaal was no less puzzled. A light flickered at the base of the creature and a bright, yellow flame burned right beneath the Arayatian surface. What madness is this? A candle in the outside world produces a flame such as this. In the Arayat, this flame is alien.

  “You have guessed right, my friends,” explained Sharr. “This flame, this most ordinary flame, is not of Arayatian origin.”

  “How could this be?” asked another priest.

  Sarand felt a streak of fear grip her. She gazed at her colleagues and saw that many shared her anguish.

  “Yes,” added Sharr with a slithering, angry voice. “This is the Seer’s doing. He successfully used a Letter of Power when he fought the béghôm and he used our creature—the creature we created—to kindle his fire in the heart of the Arayat.” Sharr waited a moment for his acolytes to grasp the full meaning behind his words.

  “How do we stop this?” asked Kalibaal.

  Sharr laughed. “We depend on the Arayat for our magic. How do we stop something that burns the fabric, the very soil of our spells? We never prepared for this, nor do we have the knowledge to face such an attack.”

  “We could extract this knowledge from the Seer,” whispered a Kerta priest whose Arayatian appearance looked like a dislocated dog.

  “Indeed, my friend, indeed. Initially, I had released the urkuun as a precautionary measure. If our béghôm has not killed him, the urkuun will take care of it. Somehow, the Seer managed to wound the urkuun, destroy the béghôm, and cause havoc in the Arayat.” He gazed at them. “This seer is young and inexperienced and has no knowledge of magic. He is not supposed to know how to damage the Arayat. Somehow, someone helped him,” he added. Raising a hand to quell protests, he added: “I am well aware that not a few of you are plotting to take my place. Our god expects this strife. Through it, he preserves a strong priesthood. But if anyone of you has been helping the Seer, I ask you in the name of reason and all that you hold sacred to stop. He is burning the Arayat, the very source of power you depend on.”

  “You released the urkuun already,” protested another priest. “This beast is uncontrollable and will kill the Seer. How do we know it is not you, who is working for the destruction of the Arayat?”

  A murmur ran through the group.

  Sharr sneered with great disdain. He drew an imaginary circle in the air that created a portal into which they could all see the urkuun standing by a dark pool. Sharr flicked his fingers and the urkuun fell to his knees. The monster snarled and shrieked, but he could not break the invisible fetters holding him back. Sharr flicked his fingers and the portal disappeared.

  “You may disapprove of my methods,” he said sternly, “and you may wish to overthrow me, but do not underestimate my power.”

  “If this is so,” persisted the same priest, “why haven’t you taken the Seer yourself? Why all this complication?”

  “I control what I know,” replied Sharr. “But this?” he said pointing at the flame, “Do any of you know how to snuff it? We are dealing with a Seer of Power,” he added. “The urkuun should suffice.”

  “What if it doesn’t? What if the Seer manages to destroy the urkuun?”

  “Then,” said Sharr in a threatening dark tone, “other, harsher means will be necessary. If he overtakes the urkuun, I will—”

  “I will take care of it,” Sarand cut in. She was scared. They were all scared, for none of them had ever dealt with events such as these. “If the urkuun fails, I will unleash the khoblyss. They will bring the Seer to me.”

  “Excellent initiative, my dear Soloist,” replied Sharr. “We must capture the Seer at all costs. We need to extract from him the knowledge to help us fight this evil.”

  The members of the Inner Council accented. This makes sense, thought the Soloist, but why do I have the feeling that Sharr is still pulling all the strings?

  She wondered if she should mention the existence of the female Seer, but decided against it. If the urkuun does not kill her first, and if she escapes my clutch, then we shall see …

  Kalibaal, who knew what Sharr would do next, stood motionless. He prayed and hoped the urkuun would succeed.

  The following morning, twenty tents were huddled in a secluded meadow. A short distance north, over a hillock, the road leaving Gordion ran in a straight path and traffic was already heavy. Caravaneers, couriers, merchants, farmers, slave traders, and countless others shuttled between the capital and Tulin—a town that bordered Teshub and Mitani. Aquilina stepped barefoot out of her tent and darted over to Hoda’s.

  “Miss Hoda,” she said while standing before the tent, “I am ready for a new adventure.” Four days ago, they had left the palace in Gordion for their cottage two hours northeast of the capital. There, her father had told her they would not be staying in the cottage after all.

  “Where are we going?” she had asked as she rubbed sleep off her eyes.

  “On a grand adventure.”

  “Great. Is Vily coming too?”

>   “Yes.”

  “And Mother, and you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I am ready,” she told her father with a beaming smile.

  She giggled when she saw her father dressed like a Finikian itinerant merchant. She gawked when she saw her mother dressed in similar fashion. “Mother, you are so beautiful,” she exclaimed. “I would have mistaken you for a queen.”

  “Aquilina,” whispered Vily, “Your mother is a queen.”

  “I know that, but before, she was just called a queen. Now she looks like a queen queen. A real one.”

  Amaréya managed a smile. To wear anything but Empyrean attire was harder than she had expected. Still, Corintus had not asked for her blades, which she had conveniently hidden beneath her dress. Now that she walked like a merchant, she began to understand her husband’s concern. This is far more demanding than I expected. Still, there was no going back. She would have to adapt, just like she did when she had married. As long as Corintus is by my side, I know I can do this.

  The first day of travel had been truly enjoyable. The countryside had enchanted Aquilina, who found everything new. But by the next day, she had begun to miss her room in the palace for she loved her routine, her habits and the familiar environment. That stable life counter-balanced the chaotic Tyrulian landscape, and she craved it.

  “Father, when are we going back to the palace?”

  “Not just yet, Aquilina. Your mother has a mission from the Empyreans. She must fulfill it before we can return.”

  “But Mother is the heiress to the throne. She can ask someone else to carry out this mission for her.”

  “She could, but this is very sensitive and she wants to handle it herself.”

  Aquilina found this explanation strange. Questions swirled in her head, but she knew she could not ask her mother directly; she would have to wait for Amaréya to speak first. The day before, Hoda had sensed how restless the young girl had become and kept her busy with memorization games. Vily and Aquilina memorized the names of trees, plants, and bushes, and called out the names of critters they periodically met. Each time they stopped for a break, Hoda would race the young girls to keep them physically busy. When they had their camp set up, Aquilina and Vily had quickly fallen asleep, which explained why, on this bright morning, Aquilina stood by Hoda’s tent at sunrise.

  “Sir Karadon is my prince,” Vily had told her, blushing. “He is the best prince I know. He is wonderful.”

  Aquilina smiled. She liked Karadon, but Hoda fascinated her. Something about her, her expressions, her voice, reminded her of the mysterious figure she had been calling Snoring Man. Whenever Aquilina heard the young woman speak, she could not fail to notice that Snoring Man spoke with similar intonations. Hoda stressed certain sounds, and so did he, and in the same way. She stressed other sounds whenever she spoke quickly, and so did he. It was uncanny. Perhaps they are from the same land? That would make sense, she had thought.

  “Aquilina, you’re early this morning,” said Vily, joining her. She was shivering. The sun had not yet appeared, and the air was still brisk. “It’s not polite to stand by someone’s tent,” she whispered. “They may hear us.”

  “And hear you, we did,” said Karadon as he emerged from the tent dressed in Finikian clothing. He wore a pair of pleated purple trousers with a light brown leather belt ornamented with a clasp of Baal on his chariots and a beige V-neck linen shirt with long puffed sleeves. His braided hair flowed from under a tall conical hat. The thick light brown laces of his sandals climbed to his knees.

  The two girls giggled. “Sir Karadon,” said Vily mimicking Ophirian nobility in Gordion, “You are most gallant in your merchant attire.”

  Hoda peeked outside. “Good morning, girls. You’re up early.”

  “I’m an early riser,” said Karadon, “Missy over there is not,” he said in a fake whisper. Vily giggled and Aquilina smiled.

  “I can come back later, Miss Hoda,” she offered.

  “I’ll be out in a moment.”

  When Hoda emerged, she too was wearing Finikian clothing: a bright red tunic with a belt from which two tassels hung over a long purple skirt. A large decorative pendant in the stylized shape of Uropa—the Finikian goddess of safe travels—hung over her matching purple blouse. Her hair was braided down to the back with two shorter braids on each side. Her sandals were similar to Karadon’s but with two small clasps each bearing a cobra, the head deity Etersis of Edfu, with whom Finikians had a rich and long-established commercial relation.

  “Wow, Miss Hoda,” whispered Aquilina. “You are beautiful.”

  “Beautiful,” repeated Vily.

  “Well, well,” said Karadon, “I can see that my protégé has good taste. I kind’a agree,” he added with a glint in his eyes. “She is beautiful.”

  Hoda laughed. “Thank you, girls. But something tells me you didn’t wake me up this early to stare at my clothing, now did you?”

  “Well then,” said Karadon as he bowed before Vily. “I shall see if I may be of service to this most gallant young maiden over here.”

  Vily blushed. Aquilina giggled. Karadon’s Finikian accent was funny. Corintus looked out from his own tent and waved.

  “Good morning, Father,” shouted Aquilina.

  “She must not shout so,” protested Amaréya. “Someone may recognize her.”

  “Soon, we will have to leave our names behind,” replied Corintus. “We will have to use Finikian names.”

  “What we are doing is crazy,” said his wife. “Tell me, do we have to do this? We can still return to Gordion, to the palace.”

  “It is necessary, Amaréya. You know it as well as I. Aquilina vanishes. You have seen it with your own eyes. The Temple will find out, then they will come after us and we will lose everything: our daughter, the palace, and our lives. I know how strange this feels. I know parents who would not think twice of bringing their child to the Temple for a generous reward. Here we are, going into exile, leaving everything for her sake.”

  “I am ashamed, Corintus. I should not have spoken the way I did.”

  “It’s a good thing that you are ashamed. Most humans would feel ashamed. There is nothing wrong with your feelings. It’s how you act on them that counts.” He drew closer and added in a softer tone, “Do you want return to Gordion, Amaréya? You still can.”

  “How long before we reach the border?” she asked, determined.

  “Good,” he said, relieved. “Now, you must not doubt our resolve. We need to see this through.”

  She nodded and grabbed his hand, which surprised him in a pleasant sort of way. He squeezed her hand and hummed a sultry song about a sailor in love with an Empyrean.

  Outside, Aquilina was helping Hoda prepare breakfast. “Miss Hoda,” whispered Aquilina, “You and Snoring Man are related.”

  Hoda froze. “Have you … seen him lately?”

  Aquilina placed her hand on her chest and felt the Merilian beneath her clothing. She shook her head. “The medallion you gave me keeps everything quiet. I sleep better now. But your accent is so much like his.”

  “Next time you hear him, see if you can ask him his name. I lost my brother when he was a little boy about your age. I had given him a doll that he called Doda. He carried this doll everywhere and was inconsolable when he lost it.”

  Aquilina opened her eyes wide. “That’s why you were so surprised when I told you.” She looked down. “I’m sorry. I have been careless.”

  “Don’t be. I’m glad you told me. But yes, we cannot afford to be careless. Do not speak of this to anyone without your parents’ consent.”

  “Not even you?”

  “I have already spoken to your parents. They understand.”

  “Vily?”

  Hoda was silent for a moment. “Ask your parents. As far I’m concerned, the less you speak of it, the better.”

  “Why, Miss Hoda? Why should I keep it a secret?”

  “Has anyone bothered you about this?”


  “Well no …” Aquilina’s voice trailed when she remembered the one she called her enemy. The terrible voice she had heard in Tyrulan. “Yes, someone did.”

  “This is why. There are people, terrible people who will do you harm if they know what you can do.”

  “Is that what happened to your brother?”

  “You are one perceptive little girl, you know? Yes, I believe that is how I lost him. I do not want to lose you too, so be very, very careful.”

  Aquilina smiled. “I will.”

  Deep within her, a resolve as hard as steel and brighter than the stars was growing. She would be by her friend’s side. She would help him and would use all the power of Tyrulan to stop her enemy, and his.

  “O Silent, beware the wiles of your heart and the secret desires of your dreams. They are like a silent, giant wave behind you, and you do not see it crashing down, and you do not hear it.”

  –The Book of Lamentation 7:1.

  “Amsheet,” shouted Tanios.

  The company cheered. They were worn out from the five-day forced march on the road between the two forests. Initially they had traveled on horseback, but soon after their ranks swelled with refugees from the city of Hardeen and the horses were made to pull chariots for the elderly and the sick, and for mothers and their children. As they walked, many more joined them, turning their small group into a large multitude of at least five thousand. The commander had spread the Silent among the people to keep order. All were hungry, tired, and afraid, but no one wanted to stop until they reached Amsheet. The Silent raised an alert when aged folks began to collapse from exhaustion. Tanios requisitioned all chariots to carry those too weak or too tired to walk. Everyone else continued on foot.