Ahiram paid attention to no one. The one who had become a legend was weeping for the princess who had loved him to the last.
“Shortly after the Battle of Hardeen, the refugees returned and rebuilt their homes. Life went on, yet the villagers honored the memory of those who freed the land from the dark evil. Year after year, they commemorate these events and reenact the final victory.
“I have been told that the day of celebration is filled with weddings. The open space in front of the Fortress of Hardeen, where the final battle took place, welcomes newlyweds with their joyful processions, and soon the plain is covered with flowers as though to celebrate the renewal of life.”
–Chronicles of Yardam, Third Stewart of the House of Hiram.
Intense activity marked the following days. The people of Tanniin piled the bodies of dead sylveeds and cremated them. Princess Gaëla officiated at the Empyrean funeral rite. Her warriors stripped their dead of their weapons before laying them on the pyre. Later, they would gift the weapons of their fallen companions to young, new recruits to the Empyrean army. In their eyes, a sword held a mighty tale, a song, and an expression of love to carry forward. Gaëla intoned the Onyévérah. This was the solemn ceremony imploring Vronde, the keeper of the dead, to grant each of her fallen sisters a blade of eternity. She burned incense and pleaded with Vronde to grant them safe passage to Skéné Varéla, the glorious, boundless forest where their bliss will never end as they go from glory to glory.
Since the Tanniinites had lost their priesthood to Baal a few centuries ago, they relied on a morespherini, shepherd of the dead, to lead their loved ones home to Tan-Adeen, the land of peace. There, in the company of their forefathers, they feasted bountifully in the presence of Tanniin. The morespherini—traditionally a woman—sprinkled the dead with a mixture of wine and garlic to fortify them during their last journey. Then, she and a large crowd lit candles and kept vigil all night long, praying for Tanniin to guide their loved ones through the fog of nothingness where one could be lost forever. The following day was spent burying them.
A large heap of stones was placed to cover the spot where the urkuun had fallen, and the exhausting cleanup and rite of purification followed. Frajil roamed the camp in search of something to do. The end of the battle had disappointed him. He was bored again. I miss Soloron, he thought. Soloron knows how to unbore Frajil. Frajil goes back to Soloron.
Three days later glad tidings reached the camp: Tanios and the high priestess had survived the fall of the fortress. After Orwutt and Zurwott dropped the ceiling, the Silent, who had disobeyed Tanios, rescued their commander and the priestess from underneath the rubble. They made their way back to the hidden door where they had entered, and battled through sylveeds’ territory, back to camp.
More glad news followed when Orwutt and Zurwott reached the camp. Xurgon rejoiced and let them know how happy he was to see them by expounding the virtues of their ancestors twenty generations back. His panegyric lasted two hours.
A clean breeze flowed in from the sea and swept away the remnant of the stench. Despite all the happy tidings, there was none of the buoyant clamor or shouts of joy characteristic of victory. The loss of Princess Noraldeen weighed heavily on everyone’s hearts.
“Poor Lord Orgond,” a woman sighed. “He lost his wife and now his only child. He is all alone.”
“He won't be for long,” replied a friend of hers. “He will be king soon, and as king he will have to marry.”
“Yes indeed, but who can replace fair Noraldeen in her father’s heart?”
“True,” sighed her friend. “Of all those who were on the battleground, it had to be her. Why?”
Ahiram sat on a barren rock, high above the main camp. The wind, cold and cruel, blew continually as though a deranged beast were trying to unseat an intruder. It seemed the wind wanted Ahiram to go; to leave and disappear. But the Silent paid no attention to the natural elements. Oblivious to his surroundings, he sat as still as the rock itself and gazed into the distance. He saw nothing, and heard nothing. He reviewed the last moments of the battle hundreds of times. He wondered what had gone wrong and chided himself for his weakness. The wound Zirka had inflicted was healing well, but he didn’t notice or care. How could he have abandoned Noraldeen at that crucial moment, and why had he not seen her when he descended? Why had he not moved the battle scene away from her? Was he so focused on victory that he had forgotten Noraldeen?
The questions became a host of carrion birds flying overhead, and their insistent cacophony pulled him away from the shore of sanity into a troubled sea. The fragile raft of his mind struggled to keep afloat. Why did you betray her? Why did you let her die? He killed her because of you … Despair rose like a dark storm over razor-sharp waves. Loneliness closed in like a shark and pulled him down into cold and still waters. In this iron-frozen depth of despair, where no human hand seemingly could reach, he imagined his sister Hoda standing before the dead body of Noraldeen.
“I died because of you, Ahiram, and now you killed her. You destroyed Olothe, destroyed our village, and allowed your mother and father to die.” She gazed at him with eyes filled with sadness. “You killed me, Ahiram.”
Exhausted from the battle and still fighting the aftereffects of the powerful Ithyl Shimean curse, Ahiram lost the will to live. In that dark moment, at that terrible point of utter dejection and weakness, he slowly pulled out one of his daggers and pointed the blade to his heart. He tightened his grasp and … was slapped hard. Twice.
“How dare you? How dare you?”
Ahiram regained his senses. He managed to focus on the form standing in front of him and finally recognized Sheheluth. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing labored, like someone who had been running for a while. His anger flared. “What do you care, Sheheluth? You think I’m nearly as evil as the urkuun, so what do you care if I live or die?”
“Selfish idiot,” she yelled, tears streaming down her cheeks. She pounded her fist on his chest. “Selfish, arrogant idiot. Can you for once think about the feelings of others before you wallow in your own sorrow?”
“Others?” he yelled back, “I saved everyone else. I saved them all except for the one that mattered the most to me.”
“And what do you think she would say if she saw you trying to kill yourself now?” Sheheluth shouted back.
“It doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing matters.”
“Wait until you hear what Hiyam has to say.”
“What?”
“You may want to compose yourself. The others should not see you like this. Control yourself for Noraldeen’s sake.”
A short moment later, Jedarc, Banimelek, and Hiyam reached the promontory. They too were out of breath.
“Where have you been?” asked Banimelek. “Everyone is looking for you. What are you doing here?”
Ahiram lowered his gaze.
“He is not well,” interjected Sheheluth. “You can imagine the—”
“I was going to kill myself. Sheheluth stopped me.” Almost in a whisper he added, “I’m not sure she should have. Why did Nora die?”
At first, no one said anything. Then Jedarc knelt in front of Ahiram and looked at him closely. “You know, I’m not shocked. Losing her is too hard, isn’t it? I mean, it hurts me beyond belief, and I wasn’t nearly as close to her as you were. You already know that’s not what she would have wanted, but hey, sometimes the pain becomes unbearable and you don’t know what to do with yourself, right?”
Ahiram glanced at Hiyam then looked at Jedarc with concern. “Since when do you know so much about pain, Jedarc?” His tone was bitter.
“What? No, it’s not what you think. Hiyam has done nothing to hurt me.” The young man laughed nervously. “I mean, we all come from somewhere, and where I come from, they do teach us a thing or two about pain. But not to worry,” he added quickly. “I am my usual self, see?”
“Ahiram,” said Hiyam as gently as she could. “Hoda is alive.”
The words register
ed slowly, like a heat wave moving over water, or a sandstorm approaching on the horizon. Hazy and vague at first, the meaning became clearer and more certain until Ahiram took in the full significance of what she had just said.
He sat up and asked softy, “How do you know this?”
“I overheard my mother speaking to the commander.”
“What of my parents?”
“She only said your sister was alive. Chances are they’re alive too.”
“Where is she?”
“The commander wanted to tell you first, but seeing you like this … I couldn’t wait. My mother didn’t know, but she said that one of the servants to the first priestess knows.”
“Which one?”
“She didn’t tell him her name, but she mentioned you would be able to recognize her quickly.”
“So then, Hoda is alive,” he repeated mechanically. He scoffed. “Are the gods so cruel that they must take Noraldeen away to give me Hoda back? My sister is alive and Noraldeen is gone? What meaningless evil is this? Why? Please tell me, why?”
“I don’t know, Ahiram,” answered Banimelek. “But if you find your sister you may be that much closer to finding the answer.”
Ahiram smirked. “Ever practical, Banimelek.” He sighed. “Thanks though, this helps.” He smiled slightly. “You don’t have to worry,” he said glancing at Sheheluth. “The dark storm has passed. I’ll be fine.”
“Why? Why Master Habael? Tell me, why did she have to die?”
Two days passed since Hiyam had told him about Hoda. At first, Ahiram had focus, direction, and hope. But the dark clouds began to gather once more. Despair, sticky as mud, and damp as everlasting rain flooded his mind with dark thoughts. What if it’s a trap? What if the high priestess is telling me Hoda is alive to taunt me? How can I trust her?
He refused to come down to the camp, preferring to stay high in the hills. His friends had set up a tent for him and a few more for themselves, and they did not leave his side day and night. He sat, unmoving, on the same rock where Sheheluth had found him. His eyes were lost in a daze. He barely ate and spoke to no one. Then Habael came for a visit, and Ahiram pounded him with questions.
Habael placed his arm around Ahiram’s shoulders and did not reply.
“You loved her?” he asked after some time.
Ahiram did not answer right away. “I loved her, but I never felt worthy of her. She, on the other hand …” tears streamed down his cheeks, shaking him. “She loved me more than I deserve to be loved.”
“No one deserves to be loved, Ahiram,” replied the old man softly. “Love is a gift. A mystery. Sometimes it can be difficult to love. Sometimes it can be harder to be loved, especially if that love is powerful, good, and better than we are. Her love is hard to bear, is it not?”
“Yes. It hurts. She was fair and beautiful, passionate about all things, just and joyful, intelligent and kind. She was the first to welcome me, to encourage me when I needed it. She was never jealous, never envious. She was far better than me. Nora died for me. I don’t deserve that. Master Habael, this is too much to bear.”
“So you think you’re guilty? You think you betrayed her?”
“Yes, I do. I feel guilty that she cared so much about me, and that I did not care enough. Why should she care so much? I should have never spoken to her. I should have not spoken to anyone. Noraldeen, Jedarc, Banimelek, none of them. I’m just a slave. How could she love a slave?”
“Because she saw in you more than a slave.”
Startled, Ahiram looked up and saw Lord Orgond. “Because,” he continued as he drew closer to the two men, “she saw a prince and more than a prince. My daughter knew what she was doing when she ran toward the beast. She was in full control of herself. She knew no one could defeat the urkuun but you. What she did, she did for you, for me, and for this land and its people whom she loved so much. Do you see?”
Despite his turmoil, Ahiram perceived, obscurely, that Noraldeen’s father was also addressing these words to himself.
“No father should ever have to watch his daughter die. My daughter knew how difficult her death would for me, for all of us. But this did not stop her, because she was free, truly free to choose what was right. Even though it tears my heart to see her gone, I honor her decision. I respect it. I will do what I must to honor her memory, to make her sacrifice count. She trusted you, Ahiram. She is worthy of your trust and mine. She gave you her life. You may not understand why, you may wish it were not so. But you are a Silent. A Silent that honors a fellow Silent. This you can do, as you should, for Noraldeen’s sake.”
Realizing he was still sitting, Ahiram sprang to his feet and bowed before Lord Orgond.
“Thank you, Lord Orgond. I will always honor her. I will.”
Noraldeen’s father nodded before taking his leave.
“What did Noraldeen tell you before she died?” Master Habael asked.
Ahiram lowered his head. “To love her as she loved me.” He looked away. “I promised I would, but …”
“You don’t know what she meant, do you?”
Ahiram shook his head. “I would have gladly died instead of her.”
“I know, lad, I know. We all know that, but she did not want you to die for her. She wants you to love her as she loved you.”
“Well she’s dead isn’t she? How am I supposed to do that now? How am I supposed to show her my love when she’s no longer with me?”
“That is for you to discover. Nonetheless, would it be fair to say that you know what she loves and what she hates?”
Ahiram nodded. He could still see her pointing to the tree, the children, the peaceful setting, away from the throne of glory. It was a dream. Still, Nora would have chosen the children sitting under that cedar tree. That’s what she would have chosen.
“Then, if you do what pleases her, especially when you do not understand or wish it, you would be honoring her, would you not?”
Ahiram reluctantly nodded once more.
“It would be pleasing to Noraldeen to see that you uphold her name, carry her memory, and honor her desires. This falls short from perfect love, but it is an act of love. Do you see that?”
Ahiram did not answer. Master Habael’s words made sense, but he needed more. He wished he could ask her himself. I wish I could talk to you, Nora. I wish … A thought crystallized in his mind. Hoda would know what I should do to honor Noraldeen. But what if she is dead? What if the priestess was lying? Oppressed and heartbroken, he did not know how to escape the obsessive back-and-forth his mind was playing between the unbearable pain of Noraldeen’s death and the joyful hope of seeing Hoda.
“Master Habael, if the high priestess said that my sister is alive, would you believe her?”
Habael was relieved to see Ahiram focus his mind on a matter he could do something about. “She is not one to speak casually of such things,” replied the old man.
“But what if it’s a trap?”
“One does not exclude the other,” explained Habael. “She may be speaking the truth, and it may still be a trap.”
“I will ask the commander.”
“He would vouch for the priestess as I would.”
“She tried to kill me.”
“And she saved your life by weakening the urkuun, did she not?”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“One thing you can believe is that the Temple of Baal wants to capture you. You are now a threat to them.”
“I don’t care about their threats,” he sighed in anger. “That’s the other thing, Master Habael, Sheheluth told me I’m a sormoss, that I can gravely injure people when my anger turns to rage.”
“Thyme and mint soothe an angry mind,” whispered the gardener.
Ahiram managed a smile. “That’s why you had me work in that garden of yours. You knew about my temper then.”
“You carried it in your eyes wherever you went.”
Ahiram remembered then that he had wanted to ask Maste
r Habael about the golden tile. He opened his palm and said the name of the Letter softly. The title materialized in his hand. He looked at the old man questioningly. “Do you see it, Master Habael?”
Habael glanced at Ahiram’s hand. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure. I found it over a small door that led to the tomb of El-Windiir. No one else but me can see this tile. Well, Sheheluth can sense it, but she can’t see it like I do. She helped me. She showed me how to see this star. Stars are scary when seen up close, Master Habael, did you know that? She told me how to use that star to defeat the urkuun.”
Habael listened intently as was his custom. Whatever thoughts or feelings Ahiram’s words elicited, he kept to himself.
Ahiram’s posture slumped. He rubbed his forehead. “I feel hemmed down, tangled up in a web that holds me back, and all I have ever wanted was to be a shark fisherman.”
“I know someone who can help you with this tile,” said Habael quietly.
“You do? Who is it?”
“If you go to the Island of Salem, he will find you.”
“Salem? How do I get there?”
“Through the Kingdom of Marada.”
“The giants?” said Ahiram. “And go with the caravan from beyond?”
“You mean Master Kwadil’s famed caravan?”
“Yes. That’s what we used to call it because he traveled beyond our mountains to the land of the giants. I never thought I would be traveling that same route. By the way, Master Habael, why are you keeping from me the name of the person who can help me? How do you know him?”
Habael smiled. “This is the first time you have questioned my intent.”
Ahiram was mortified. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Do not be sorry. I am proud of you. I have been waiting for this day for a long time. It means you are ready to act as a free man. This is good. See, when a child is taken from his home and sold as a slave, he sets limits in his mind to the things he is allowed to know and he lives in a mental cage. You have been living in that cage for six years, and it seems that you have just opened the door.”
Wrath of the Urkuun (Epic of Ahiram Book 2) Page 58