Wrath of the Urkuun (Epic of Ahiram Book 2)

by Murano, Michael Joseph

  “Sondra, I will listen to what you have to say now,” replied Noraldeen, a glint in her eye. “Speak your mind.”

  “Start by telling us exactly what happened,” said Sondra.

  “I should not have reacted like I did, but I wished that once, just once, he would pay attention to—”

  “You,” added Allelia with a smile. “Instead, he asks you about the statue of Jaguar-Night without even looking at you.”

  Corialynn rolled her eyes, “Predictable.”

  Noraldeen is upset because he asked about a statue? thought Jedarc. Really? “Can you believe he did that?” he said in a reproachful tone.

  “How shocking,” added Banimelek. What did he do wrong?

  “Dreadful, I say,” echoed Alviad. Good thing it was him and not me. I have no clue why Nora is upset.

  “I don’t understand why that upsets you,” interjected Hiyam. “Show of emotions are not allowed within Temple precinct for the high priestess and any close relative: it defiles the Temple.”

  The two young women locked eyes and neither backed off. Noraldeen could see that Hiyam was sincere yet did not understand, and it reminded her of Gaëla. How strange are the ways of the world, she thought.

  “Ahiram asked Nora to meet him,” explained Corialynn, “but instead of paying attention to her, or even looking at her, he asked her about some statue. Nora had been waiting to meet him because she loves him. How insensitive can he be? Don’t you agree?”

  The three young men gave her a cacophony of “Sure. Yeah. Absolutely. Imagine that. How insensitive.”

  “Clearly,” continued Corialynn, “these three don’t get it either.”

  Alviad glanced at Sondra and gave her an embarrassed grin when he saw her glare at him.

  Hiyam sighed. “I would have not noticed it,” she said, “but that’s me.”

  “You’re one lucky guy,” whispered Alviad in Jedarc’s ear. “She’s way less complicated than the others.”

  Banimelek elbowed him, “Idiot. They can hear you.”

  “Did you stop to think that there may have been a good reason why he asked you about the statue?” Sheheluth asked. Her voice was gentler this time around, almost maternal, but the tendency of this Junior Silent to command the conversation was starting to annoy the rest of the group.

  “What do you mean?” asked Noraldeen.

  “If he does not defeat the urkuun, we will all die, or worse …” Her voice trailed and everyone quieted. “Where I come from, we are far more sensitive to the flow of magic than the rest. We … we see strong sources of magic the way you see strong sources of light.” She pointed to a specific spot in the city. “For example, the statue of Jaguar-Night gives off a very powerful beam of magic. It is nearly blinding.”

  “What does that have to do with Ahiram?” demanded Noraldeen.

  Everyone could feel the tension mounting but no one intervened.

  Sheheluth sighed. “I’m telling you this because it may help explain his actions a bit more. Sure, he was rude and insensitive, but he has to conquer a being from the Pit.”

  “He has the sword of El-Windiir,” observed Corialynn. “Shouldn’t that be enough to protect him?”

  Sheheluth was about to let out a derisive laugh, but caught herself. They don’t know. They have no idea what we’re up against. She shook her head. “Against an Urkuun of the Third Order? You’ll need all the magic you can get your hands on. In addition to the sword, he has five magical weapons with him.”

  “Six in total? Wait, you mean five, right?” asked Sondra.

  “He has four artifacts in his bag,” Sheheluth replied patiently, “and another one in his belt.”

  “Wait, wait,” stuttered Jedarc. “He has four in his bag? Could it be …?”

  “It must be,” added Banimelek rising to his feet.

  “El-Windiir’s artifacts,” said an incredulous Alviad. “The belt of silver, the shoes of bronze, the mask of gold, and the wings of meyroon,” he said almost dreamily. “Amazing.”

  “It makes sense. They must have been with the sword.”

  “That sneaky Ahiram. He kept it to himself,” commented Corialynn.

  “Well, we all know Ahiram, don’t we?” said Jedarc. “He hates attention because all he wants is to—”

  “Go home,” finished the other Silent with the exception of Sheheluth.

  “So, what is the fifth one?” asked Hiyam. Look at me. A few months earlier I would have alerted the High Riders.

  “I don’t know,” replied Sheheluth, “he didn’t tell me.” She did not want to share her misgivings with Ahiram’s friends. I cannot tell them he is a god-crusher, they would not understand. In fact, I don’t either. “Anyway, one of the four artifacts in his bag gives off the same magical light as the statue.”

  Astounded, the rest of the Silent looked at her as if she were an apparition. Sheheluth sighed. “You know how we beginners gawk when we watch you do your incredible moves with the darts? Where I come from, a three-year-old child could tell you what I just told you. It’s nothing special really, not for us at least.”

  “So, Ahiram saw magical artifacts on that statue?” asked Hiyam, who understood more than Sheheluth assumed.

  “What’s odd is that he has no clue,” continued the young girl. “He is unaware of the powers in his possession. And whenever ancient artifacts with magical powers like these are in his presence, he cannot help but be drawn to them. So no, he wasn’t trying to ignore you,” she added for Noraldeen’s sake. “The statue must have called to him. Since he doesn’t know how to control this … penchant, he asked you about the idol.”

  “Thank you, Sheheluth, that’s extremely helpful,” replied Sondra. “Listen, Noraldeen. When he asked you to tell him what you knew about his parents’ death, you did not hold back. You answered him truthfully. You did it for him, even though you knew he would be upset. You did not think of yourself, but of him.”

  “Knowing Ahiram, your selfless concern must be gnawing at him,” added Corialynn with a gentle smile.

  “All right,” said Jedarc, who felt it was time to say something. “Noraldeen, let’s face it, Ahiram is not the easiest Silent to deal with when he is pining for his family. He can be annoying at times; my father this, and Hoda that. It makes you wonder if we even exist.”

  Noraldeen smiled and chuckled. “So I’m not the only one who feels this way. I should have known.”

  “The only one?” asked Alviad. “He is so obsessed by his ‘I will return to my village,’ it makes you wonder if he ever left his village.”

  Jedarc slapped his friend on the back. “Bull’s-eye,” he said. “It’s as if his body is here, but his soul is still there.”

  “Wow,” said Banimelek. “That’s deep.”

  “Are you making fun of me?” A quick look at Banimelek convinced Jedarc that his friend was serious, which he should have known, for he had never seen Banimelek make fun of anyone.

  “That must be it,” said Noraldeen in a sad, distant tone that nearly broke their hearts. “His soul is not here, but back home.”

  “Now wait a minute,” said Banimelek, deeply troubled by what he was hearing. “There’s something you two should know …”

  They looked at him and saw how conflicted he was. “What are we supposed to know?” asked Jedarc.

  “Banimelek,” interjected Noraldeen, “don’t say it unless—”

  “I know he told me never to tell anyone, but I think for once, he’s wrong. Listen carefully because I will not repeat this, ever. One day, Ahiram told me that of all the people he has ever known, none have given him more joy and consolation than the two of you.” Banimelek pointed to Jedarc and Noraldeen.

  A stunned silence followed.

  “Seriously?” asked Jedarc. “He never laughs at my jokes.”

  “This has nothing to do with your jokes, silly,” said Sondra. “I find them lame and so does everyone else. He’s talking about who you are.”

  “For reasons I won’t get
into,” added Banimelek glancing at Noraldeen, “he is grateful that you both exist, that you are here, and that you are close to him.”

  “He said that?” asked Noraldeen.

  Banimelek nodded. “He told me when you meet people who are more beautiful than a sunset, purer than the fresh air of the highest peaks, and joyful like the soft wind of spring, and you do not lay down your life for them, then you have never lived.”

  They looked at Banimelek, dumbfounded.

  “Ahiram said that?” asked Jedarc, disbelieving his ears.

  “That’s so poetic,” said Hiyam deeply touched.

  “He loves me, but cannot give himself to me for his soul is trapped back home,” said Noraldeen. “Now I understand. If I were to die, the world around him would become dark, and the hope to right what was wrong would fade away. I am his light and he is afraid, more afraid than I have ever known. Poor Ahiram. Lost between two worlds, two moments; a past that will never be again, and a future he cannot begin to consider. Ever since he was ripped away from his village and brought here, he has been desperate to return, and he will not stop until he does.”

  “Noraldeen,” muttered Banimelek, confused by the turn of the conversation. “I—”

  “No Banimelek, thank you. That helps.”

  Time went by as each of them tried to absorb what had just happened. Hiyam was deeply touched by Noraldeen’s words. Unlike Ahiram, her childhood had been undisturbed. As she pondered the latest events, she knew she lived in the present moment. She missed the Temple, the city of Baalbek, and the golden shores of Finikia, but there were no regrets, no wounds tying her back to her past. If truth be told, she was becoming fond of Jedarc. She understood Banimelek’s allusion; Jedarc was a ray of sun and his joy was contagious. He marveled at everything, small or big, and enjoyed whatever came his way. She felt safe and content with him.

  “Poor Ahiram,” she said at last. “Ripped from his home and his past and nowhere to go.”

  “He may not have somewhere to go,” said Noraldeen smiling, “but, he who has friends is never alone.”

  “Right,” said Jedarc springing to his feet.

  Banimelek stood up, “We’ll find him. He’ll defeat the monster.”

  “Then he will return home to make sure his family is not there waiting for him, and then come back to marry you,” added Jedarc.

  Hiyam winced. “How do you know that?” she asked as she glanced at Noraldeen.

  “Easy,” replied Jedarc laughing. “What do you think his father would say if instead of fighting the urkuun, he went back to see him?”

  “I don’t know what his father would say, but I know what Ahiram would say,” and Noraldeen assumed Ahiram’s serious composure and mimicked his tone of voice. “I will not bring dishonor to my family.”

  Everyone laughed, even Sheheluth. The imitation was near perfect. Then they all fell silent. In more than one way, Ahiram meant a lot to each one of them. Banimelek had, at first, looked haughtily on the little fellow that Tanios brought into the training room years ago. He thought that Ahiram was not worthy of becoming a Silent. Then came the day when Tanios had asked Ahiram to take part in the game of tagging, and Banimelek quickly learned to respect Ahiram.

  Hiyam broke the silence. “I remember I was so sad to hear that Baher-Ghafé had been destroyed.” They looked at her not understanding what she meant. “My mother told me Ahiram comes from Baher-Ghafé.”

  “Did you know his parents?” asked Noraldeen, hopeful.

  “No. I went there once or twice to watch them fish for shark. It was a beautiful village on the seashore, and the fishermen were strong and efficient. When I heard the village had been destroyed, I cried. I felt so sad and this feeling of sadness has never really left me. I don’t know why.”

  The wind blew. Like an old man sweeping away unpleasant memories, it shuffled dead leaves into the night. The city glittered with thousands of candles that were lit for the carnival.

  “So you think he is down there, somewhere?” whispered Noraldeen.

  “Knowing him, he must be on some rooftop watching the carnival,” replied Jedarc, stretching.

  “Rooftop!” exclaimed Banimelek. “Ahiram will perch himself on the highest roof he can find to get the best view.”

  “So do you want us hopping on rooftops like monkeys?” asked Jedarc. “There are too many rooftops in Amsheet. How will we find the right one?” inquired Corialynn.

  “The statue,” Sheheluth said. “Follow the statue, it will draw him.”

  They exchanged glances, knowing what they had to do. Noraldeen spoke first. “The procession of Jaguar-Night is a major attraction. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ahiram is following it right now. The procession will begin shortly. We can start with the rooftops along the way.”

  “Any objection?” asked Sondra. None came. “Allelia and Corialynn, you will work the southeast rooftops. Alviad and I, the northeast. Banimelek and Sheheluth, cover the northwest side. Jedarc, Hiyam and Noraldeen, the northeast buildings. The first to find him signals the rest.”

  “This is unfittingly unfit and unfit most unfittingly for dwarfish consumption. I am dishearteningly disheartened, and disheartened most dishearteningly,” whispered Zurwott, chewing on a stale piece of bread.

  “It is the least of the worst I could find,” replied Orwutt. “That we have been able to escape those slimy creatures and are well and alive should suffice.”

  The sylveeds had dragged the two dwarfs along a muddy path in the forest for nine long days and had forced them to run, prodding them on with spears and swords. They ran most of the night and rested during the day, but on the second night, Empyrean scouts located them and the hunt began. The Empyreans forced the sylveeds to change course several times as they desperately tried to evade their pursuers. On the seventh day of this exhausting chase, the sylveeds ended up in a clearing where the Empyrean forces attacked. A group of sylveeds yanked Orwutt and Zurwott away and managed to escape while their companions stayed and fought to their last breath.

  Once the battle was over, the Empyreans piled the bodies. Despite being in a forest, they burned them before the corpses had a chance to revert to their former selves. The Empyrean warriors did not want to know whom they had killed. They secured a fire containment, lit the large pyre, and left the bodies to burn in the dead of night.

  The group of sylveeds who had escaped with the dwarfs rationed what little food they had, but the morsels they gave Orwutt and Zurwott, the twins would not have given their dogs. Yet they ate them in an effort to keep their strength. The cuts and bruises they had suffered during the escape from the battle were still healing. They were kept in a tight circle with barely enough space to move. Despite the mistreatments, they were in fair condition.

  Two days later they stopped in front of a steep mountainside. The moon was high and splashed the mountain with a silver light. The dwarfs realized they stood before the western side of the Tangorian Chain, the eastern border of the kingdom. The mountainside extended from north to south like a giant white wall as far as the eye could see. The small group of surviving sylveeds became agitated and forced the dwarfs to move to a specific location where loud shrieks erupted among the creatures. One of them, who could barely talk, pointed toward the mountain and said, “Door, open.” He repeated the command several times.

  “They want us to open a door,” said Orwutt, mystified. Reluctantly, he forced himself to chew the last bit of what one may call bread.

  “While this may seem absurdly absurd, and absurd in the most absurdly possible manner,” said Zurwott eyeing the cliff before them, “these sycophantic sycophants may have reasonable reasons to reason reasonably that a hidden door may be presently present, and present most presently in this mountain’s facade.”

  “So what do you purportedly purport to daringly do and do most daringly?” asked Orwutt, curious.

  “Whether a daring door and a door so daring existentially exists in this local location is a questionable question, an
d a question most questionable. Nevertheless, it may be less questionable than to question questionably the honorably honorable calamities that surround us with a completely completed circular circle. Therefore I would wholeheartedly recommend, and recommend most wholeheartedly that we look for a daring door rather than consider the ill-considered proposition that we may be factually facing, and facing in the most factual manner; a wall.”

  “A wall of misunderstanding perhaps,” replied Orwutt, who had not lost his wry sense of humor.

  The sylveeds grew impatient, and one of them stuck the butt of his spear in Orwutt’s back, forcing him to move closer to the mountainside.

  “Their acts bespeak of serious intent,” said Zurwott.

  “Very serious,” replied Orwutt who tapped on the wall.

  The spear moved away from his back, and the sylveeds took cover under the nearby trees. Orwutt and his brother knew there was no sense in attempting to escape. They would be nailed to the wall at the first suspicious move.

  Orwutt placed his ear against the cold rock and started tapping gently. Zurwott moved ten feet away from his brother and started doing the same. They tapped and listened, tapped and listened, and repeated the process over and over again. As time passed, the sylveeds became uneasy and moved nervously back and forth under the trees. Orwutt looked up and noticed the clouds had become lighter; he could almost see the pale disk of the sun gliding behind them. He repeated his taps. So far, he could not detect any difference in the constitution of the rock. Dwarf’s ears were particularly attuned to detect variations in substance, or structural differences. What the two dwarfs looked for was called a maxo-rock.

  A maxo-rock is a portal; a door made of two stone slabs. These doors guarded caves and passageways. They were so well made that one could distinguish them from the surrounding surfaces. Only a dwarf could find the portal and open it. This required time and attention to detail.

  Orwutt walked toward his brother. “This is rather strangely strange. The inflective resonating resonance of the rock is not what a faithful maxo-rock ought to produce, and is distinctly distinct from, and contrary to, the inflections of a mountain.”