Along the way, they stopped several times to bury the dead. Unless they reached Amsheet quickly, provisioning this large crowd would become a serious problem.
Habael and Bahiya walked among the people and listened to their stories. Invariably the tales included creatures with ashen skin who attacked houses, farms, and markets.
“Can we dismiss all these tales?” asked Master Habael.
Bahiya shook her head. “There is a power in the forest,” she whispered, “and its presence is spreading.”
“I can vouch for Awaniir, Lord of Hardeen. He is an upright man. We need to speak with someone who was in the fortress. We need to know what happened there. See if anyone here has been to Hardeen recently.”
As they pressed on, Habael, Bahiya, and the Silent continued to listen. The closest they came to finding someone who had been inside the Fortress of Hardeen recently was Sohol, an old woman whose brother was a cook in the fortress.
“When did you last see your brother?” asked Tanios as they walked.
“Six days past,” replied the old woman.
“Did he notice anything unusual? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Methinks he said nothin’ surprisin’,” replied the woman with her thick lowlander accent. “He ain’t no talker ya know, a brick of a brother he is, yes sir, nothin’ against bricks, but no talkin’ sure is.”
“So he did not mention anything that was out of the ordinary?”
“Nope, he kept talkin’ about his kitchen. Hmm, ya may like this.”
“What?” asked Tanios. Habael and Bahiya listened intently.
“Two weeks before today and another three weeks before’em—”
“Five weeks prior,” translated Tanios.
“So you says,” Sohol confirmed politely, “right, then, about this hour, he said he had a mess in his kitchen. Da same mess three times.”
“Is this extraordinary?”
“Sure is. Ya know not my brother. A brick of a man sure he is, but ordered. Yesseree ordered like an ant colony.”
“Did he tell you why he had a mess in his kitchen?” asked Habael.
“Yep. There was three earthquakes.”
“Earthquakes?” asked Tanios bewildered. “But there has never been an earthquake in the north, ever.”
“Dat’s what I told him. He said he knew dat, but it was an earthquake all right, a rumblin’, and tumblin’, and cracks and the whole bit. Somethin’ to behold, dat’s for sure. The worst of it was the Temple of Tanniin. He said there were strange cracks and round things in the Temple.”
“Were the cracks round or square?” asked Bahiya with an altered voice. “This is important, so please, try to remember.”
The old woman thought for a moment. “Ya know, he did say somethin’ about dat,” said the woman pensively as she scratched her tanned and leathery face. “He said somethin’ about three squares and a bunch of small circles around them,” added Sohol.
The colors drained from the high priestess’ face. “How many circles?” she asked in a trembling voice.
“How many?” replied Sohol alarmed by Bahiya’s reaction. “I ain’t no knower of numbers, but my brother did this.” She showed Bahiya her hands with nine fingers up and one down. The High Priestess placed her hand on her mouth and closed her eyes. “Did I say somethin’ to upset the pretty lady?” she asked the commander.
We are in deep trouble, thought Tanios. Whatever the circles and the squares mean, it cannot be good. And whoever is behind them must be very powerful to scare a high priestess of Baal.
“You did well,” said the commander gently, “and thank you. Your help has been invaluable.” He tried to give Sohol a gold coin, but she refused adamantly saying she was doing her duty. He caught up with Master Habael, and placed him in charge.
“I need to speak to Bahiya privately. This is serious.” Habael nodded and settled comfortably at the helm of the long column moving precariously toward Amsheet.
“People.”
Frajil pointed to the distant town of Yaneer. He had been yelling, “People,” since the morning. More peasants stepped onto the road to join the legion of Tanniinite refugees, all eager to reach the safety of Amsheet.
None of these folks—except for Frajil, that is—traveled to Amsheet for the carnival. They were refugees from the farmland surrounding Hardeen, having escaped the great terror there. It was a mass exodus. All had abandoned their land, farms, crops, and livestock, and many left with only the clothes they had on. Others, more fortunate, pushed carts full of belongings. Ahiram was anxious. What are we to do with this multitude? They will have to sleep on the streets, yet with the approaching carnival, the streets will not be safe.
Sondra tapped Hiyam’s arm, who looked at her. “You sensed a curse in front of the barrier we crossed with Frajil, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” said Hiyam.
“Do you think this curse extends to the entire forest? Are all these people cursed? Will we be cursed?”
Hiyam shook her head.
“The curse was for the barrier. To blanket a forest this size with a curse requires the power of the Pit …” Hiyam’s words trailed. “If the Pit were open, then the world over would be cursed beyond saving.”
Sheheluth and Banimelek, who were near the front of the exodus, signaled to Ahiram. They neared Amsheet’s gates. Ahiram motioned to his friend to go on ahead. An old woman had grabbed his arm and would not let go. Her young grandson walked beside her, and Ahiram did not have the heart to leave them.
“I will join you as soon as I can,” he shouted to Banimelek. His friend nodded and pressed on. The old lady gave him a wary smile.
“I have family in Amsheet. They will take care of us,” she said.
The child, not more than ten, smiled valiantly. Strong boy, thought Ahiram as he smiled back.“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tinn,” replied the young boy.
“Strong Tanniinite name. What will you be when you grow up, Tinn?”
“A Silent, like you,” replied the young boy.
Ahiram tousled his blond head. “Great choice,” he said.
Behind him, Jedarc was patiently describing bananas to a few folks. Even now, he finds ways to lighten the mood, thought the Silent. Incredible.
Farad was a young man who had grown up on the shores of Baalbek. He left when he was still a lad and worked as a sailor on many ships. Eventually, he settled in Togofalk and became an assigned carrier of the statue of Jaguar-Night. This envied position was both lucrative and honorific. Farad liked his position. He liked it a lot.
Until now.
Farad was out of breath and his side was killing him. He forced himself to move until he reached the great hall where the likeness of the god was being kept. The guards recognized him and let him in. He closed the door behind him and frantically ran to the statue, reached for the eyelids and tried in earnest to remove them.
“It’s no use,” he whispered. “No use. I had better tell Lord Orgond everything.”
He dashed back out, climbed a flight of stairs, and ran through a long corridor that lead to the main hall where Lord Orgond held audience. Farad froze when he saw a shadow that stepped away from the wall.
“No!” It was too late. The dagger reached his heart. Farad gripped the handle and fell to the ground, dead. His killer moved silently and began dragging the body when he heard footsteps. He dropped the body, jumped through a nearby window, and disappeared into the darkness. The moon glided lazily between quiet clouds and shone on the statue that silently eyed the dead man sprawled on the cold marble floor.
“Beautiful view.”
Noraldeen whirled around and saw Princes Gaëla by her side on the balcony. “Yes, the valley is always beautiful at sunset.”
“You look so much like your mother,” said Gaëla softly.
“How do you know?” asked Noraldeen.
“There is a family portrait of her when she was just sixteen. One would easily mistake you for he
r.”
“I would love to see that portrait,” replied Noraldeen, excited.
“Then you should come and visit us sometime.”
“I suppose I should … Are we preparing for war?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Are you afraid of dying?”
“I do not think in those terms. We live. We die. That is normal. Failure is not. The kingdom gave us our lives, and we give it back. The kingdom must remain in order for others to live.”
Noraldeen shuddered. “I am afraid of death,” she said slowly.
Gaëla looked at her curiously. “An Empyrean afraid of death betrays the kingdom.”
“‘O Silent, only a fool ignores death. Prepare to die every day, and your name will be remembered beyond your mortal years.’ The Book of Lamentation, chapter 12, verse 7,” quoted Noraldeen. “A Silent may fear death before the action, and perhaps after, but never during.”
“If what we heard about the Silent is true, then it must be an impressive group.”
“It is,” said Noraldeen proudly. “Would you like a demonstration?”
“I would love one.”
“Great, come with me.” Princess Gaëla smiled and followed the Silent into her apartments. Noraldeen had naturally assumed command of the situation and forgot that she was speaking to the liege of the Empyreans. A true Empyrean, thought Princess Gaëla as she watched Noraldeen closely. The Silent fetched her training darts and showed them to the princess. “These darts are for training. They have a sticky head. We will stay inside this square. To step out of it means defeat. You can use your favorite weapon and I will use my darts. The first to score a hit wins.”
“Very good,” replied Princess Gaëla. “I will use my stick and flail, both are for training purposes. I carry them with me.” She opened the door and asked one of her guards to fetch them for her.
The two fighters assumed their positions diagonally across the square. After a brief salutation, they circled each other slowly. Noraldeen sized up her opponent. Princess Gaëla is tall and strong, but how fast is she? As if reading her mind, the Empyrean attacked with a suddenness and force that surprised Noraldeen. She barely escaped the flail and the stick through a series of complex moves. Gaëla was unrelenting. She was in command and would not give Noraldeen a moment of rest.
O Silent, if you forget your opponent is your greatest ally, you will be fighting a losing battle. This was a quote from the Book of Lamentation 2:3. The Silent waited for Gaëla to attack her with her stick, and then caught it with both hands. The Empyrean princess pulled it back hard and pulled a willing Noraldeen toward her. She whipped the air with her flail, but the Silent used her momentum to leap over the princess’ head. Gaëla whirled around and Noraldeen threw her dart. It hit the princess just as the flail grabbed Noraldeen by the waist. The two women dropped to the floor laughing.
“You are very good,” said Gaëla.
“Your speed is amazing. You remind me of …” Noraldeen became serious again.
“Of Ahiram,” continued Gaëla softly.
Noraldeen looked at her, surprised. “Yes. Of Ahiram,” she said and smiled. “Of Ahiram.” She stood up, picked up her darts and walked toward the balcony. Gaëla followed her.
“Your mother had much to suffer when she married your father. He does not wish to put you through the same suffering. He loves you.” Noraldeen did not answer. “Your father is a great man, perhaps one of the greatest the Empyreans have seen. Yet, we consider him less than a dog in my kingdom.”
“Why?” asked Noraldeen. “I do not understand.”
“There is not much to understand,” said Princess Gaëla. “This is how it was, how it is, and how it will always be. We stand and we fall by our word, by our sword, and our empress. We are Empyreans, one of the four elder races. Our kingdom’s surpassing beauty is our joy and our peace.”
“Perhaps, but I would rather love and suffer than behold the most beautiful kingdom on earth,” said Noraldeen.
“I do not understand that,” the princess replied.
“Neither do I,” said Noraldeen with a smile. “There is one man out there whom I long to see and be with. For me, it is enough that I love.”
Gaëla looked at her and smiled. “You would have been a great Empyrean.”
“And you, a great Silent.”
They both laughed, and their laughter echoed in the garden and out in the valley surrounding the fortress. Habael lifted his head and smiled. At last, the company had reached the fortress. Tanios pounded on the outer door. Before reaching the fortress, he had organized the refugees into small groups under the Silent’s care.
“Commander Tanios,” said Captain Enryl, “I welcome you in the name of Lord Orgond. Please follow me.”
Alviad met Jedarc and the Silent Whisper of four men he was leading at the gate of the city. He was overjoyed to see his friends alive, and pulled Banimelek aside. He wanted to give the tall Silent a hug, but knew Banimelek, who was one of his closest friends, would not appreciate even a simple accolade while on duty and in public.
“What are you doing at the gate?” asked Banimelek.
They were walking toward the temporary refugee camp that was now under the control of the military.
“Waiting for you, what else? Commander’s order. What kept you?”
“Some folks captured Hiyam to offer her as a sacrifice to a béghôm,” explained Banimelek.
“A bé … what?” replied a shocked Alviad. “The creature of legends? It exists? Wait … You’re serious?”
Banimelek nodded. “You should have seen this beast, Alviad. It was as tall as a giant and … but I’m getting ahead of myself. We sneaked in to free her, but they caught us.”
“Who?”
“The desert people. They were going to offer her as a sacrifice.”
Alviad let out a low whistle. “Imagine what would have happened had they succeeded. The Temple would have burned the whole area.”
Banimelek nodded.
“How did you manage to save her?”
“Ahiram showed up at the last moment—”
Alviad hooted and slapped Banimelek on the shoulder. “I knew it! He is alive then!”
Banimelek smirked. “Come on, Alviad, it’ll take a lot more than a few gray owls to kill shark-boy.”
Alviad nodded. “So what happened then?”
“He killed the beast and then fell ill.”
Alviad eyed his friend. He was visibly confused. “Has anyone ever told you that you should be a story teller?”
Banimelek frowned. “Not that I remember.”
“Good. You tell stories so quickly, one would think your listeners all have an extreme urge to go to the—”
“No latrine jokes,” Banimelek cut in.
Alviad chuckled. “So then, Ahiram is alive. Amazing. Everyone in the Silent Corps has been worried sick about him. This is great news.”
“Indeed. He survived the High Riders.”
“Is he all right now?”
“Yes. He recovered and will be joining us soon. He’s walking an old lady and her grand-son home.”
“Huh … most likely he was hoping to find a clean la—” Banimelek elbowed his friend who smirked. “Anyway, I know a young lady who’s going to be very happy to see him.”
“I guess so,” replied Banimelek. His tone was noncommittal. “He’ll be relieved to see her too.”
“Relieved?” Alviad shrugged his shoulders. “He’d be an idiot not to be thrilled to see her.”
“He will be happy to see her, that’s certain.”
“But not thrilled?” insisted Alviad, a glint in his eye.
“You can’t order love around. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Since when do you know so much about love?”
“Since I’ve seen Sondra look at you.”
“What do you mean?” Alviad asked nervously. “You’re not serious, are you now? I don’t like the sound of this.”
“You’d be an idiot if
you didn’t.”
“You’re not serious.”
Banimelek sighed. “I’m surrounded by clueless oafs who can’t tell the difference between friendship and love.”
“Hey, there’s Mr. Prince Jedarc, you know?” protested Alviad. “He’s the good-looking one, so why would Sondra … I mean, you’re sure Sondra—”
“You’re an idiot.”
Alviad stuck his hands deep into his pockets. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”
“Stop being one.”
After leading the refugees to the camp, they went to the fortress and presented themselves before the commander. Tanios was happy to see them and relieved to see Hiyam. He grinned when they told him Ahiram was alive and would join them soon. Hiyam went in haste to meet her mother. Bahiya held her daughter tightly in her arms.
“It is so good to see you again, daughter,” she whispered. “So very good to see you.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Hiyam avoided any show of emotion—a weakness the Temple despised in future priestesses. Still, relief washed over her. She was with her mother. No matter the gravity of the situation, her mother would know what to do. She always did.
“Mother, where is my team?”
“On their way to Baalbek. After the events of the Games, I decided to grant them leave.”
“What about us, Mother?”
“I have my orders from Babylon. More I cannot say. You are free to leave, if you so wish. I am not certain I will survive what is to come,” she added softly.
Hiyam blanched. “Mother—”
“Not now, Hiyam. If you leave, you will be safe in Baalbek. If you stay, you might not survive. Choose well, daughter.”
Jedarc had struck up a friendship with Frajil. He had brought him into the kitchen where a succulent smell of roasted chicken filled the air.
Wrath of the Urkuun (Epic of Ahiram Book 2) Page 41