The Djinn (The Order of the Knightshades Book 1)

by J. Kent Holloway

  “No, m’lord…I mean, yes, m’lord,” he squirmed under Gregory’s gaze. The knight’s squire, Samuel, fidgeted behind him, never looking up from the stone floor. “That’s exactly what happened. I would have never believed it myself, but not that I saw it with my own eyes!”

  Gregory stood quietly from his chair—not quite a throne, but he imagined it might be some day—and walked toward the cabinet that contained his wine.

  “And you say this creature, this ‘djinn’ as the locals call it, was not human?” Gregory poured the dark crimson liquid into a silver mug. It was perhaps one the best things about this place…the wine. He savored a small portion of the drink in his mouth as he watched the knight from the corner of his eyes. A stream of the liquid snaked through the rumpled course hairs of his salt and peppered beard, dripping onto his light blue tunic.

  “Well, I can’t say for sure, m’lord,” Horatio said. “All I can say is that he seemed to be made of nothing more than smoke and darkness. The shadows themselves, they came alive around him, and his voice was like the sound of some wild beast from the dark country.”

  Gregory whirled around, glowering at his knight. Swallowing the wine that had been swishing around his mouth, a cold smile spread across his face. His right eye, pupil grayed over and completely sightless, twitched. This was perhaps the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. He couldn’t believe he was wasting his valuable time on such fables.

  “Horatio, my dear friend,” said Lord Gregory as he walked over to the knight, placed an arm around his shoulder and began leading him toward the door. “Here is my suggestion to you: the next time you so nobly go out on your patrol and the creature sees fit to pounce upon you and you do nothing at all to stop him…” Gregory paused for effect. “Go ahead and beg him to kill you, because you will find no more mercy from me.”

  With that, Gregory removed his arm from Horatio’s shoulder and shoved him out the door. He then spun around and nearly slammed into the still, but trembling form of Samuel.

  “I caught a glimpse of the dark beastie m’self,” said Samuel. “Although I was unconscious most of the time. Want my report too, m’lord?”

  The baron glanced at one of the large bodyguards at the door and nodded to the squire. Without a word, the guard grabbed Samuel by the arms and tossed him out the door. Gregory sauntered to his chair, where he ceremoniously plunged himself in a huff.

  This was beyond ridiculous. He had too many preparations to make to divide his time with ghost stories. Whatever was going on out there, Gregory knew that something needed to be done. It was simply a matter of pure good fortune that the creature had not removed his one advantage from his grasp—the Essene. He might not be so lucky next time. No, this dark spirit had to be dealt with.

  But as in any strategy, it was imperative that sound intelligence of one’s foe must be gathered and there was no one within Gregory’s own court that could provide the necessary information. There was only one person who might be able to shed light on the subject, though he was loath to approach him.

  The baron’s younger brother, William, was considered a traitor by all the nobles of the Kingdom. And rightly so. Being the second born in the family, William had no choice but to follow one of two paths—knighthood or priesthood. He had nobly chosen the path of the warrior and had fought bravely in many battles. That is, until fifteen years ago when he was defeated in an attempt to quell a rebel uprising.

  William had suffered severe injuries and was taken prisoner by a band of nomadic Saracens. They had demanded ransom for him, but Gregory, having no desire to share his aspirations with his brother, had refused to pay.

  Rumor had it that when William’s injuries failed to heal properly, a well-respected sheik in the area took him in and nursed him back to health. It was discovered soon afterwards that William suffered from leprosy—an ailment that many people attributed to God as an act of punishment. For William was soon adopted by the sheik as his own son, an offense to both Christians and Muslims alike. William had accepted the adoption and had, in that single moment, renounced his Christian heritage in the eyes of his family and the Church.

  Of course, Gregory could care less about his religion. In his eyes, religion was merely a magnificent tool to gain enumerable wealth and power. And he had wielded that tool skillfully—unlike his brother, who sought after nobler things such as philosophy, science, and rhetoric.

  Still, despite his shortcomings, Gregory’s brother had developed a deep knowledge and understanding of the customs and beliefs of the infidels. If anyone knew anything about this creature the Saracens called the Djinn, it would be William. And despite his misgivings, Gregory prepared himself for a trip to his brother’s palace.

  ****

  William’s physician, Tufic, was as insufferable as ever when Gregory announced himself at the entrance. His thin, wiry frame barred the way into the palace doorway as he glared at the baron.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” the Saracen doctor said. “But Sir William cannot be disturbed. He is feeling rather frail this morning and needs his rest. I’m truly sorry, but you will need to come back at another time.”

  “Nonsense! My brother may play the part of an invalid to gain sympathy from the others, but he’ll get no such thing from me.”

  “But I really must insist…”

  Before Tufic could muster another protest, Gregory and his two bodyguards pushed past and stormed through the cavernous vestibule that greeted the few who visited William’s palace.

  Palace. What a joke, thought Gregory as he made his way to his brother’s bedchambers. It was little more than a large tent erected in the desert nearly ten miles north of Jerusalem. It was opulent, to be sure, and contained numerous large rooms. But Gregory would hardly consider it palatial.

  The walls of the tent were tall, running nearly twenty feet into the air. Made of pure crimson silk, they were inlaid with Moslem symbols and letters embroidered from golden thread. Large Persian rugs lined the wooden floors while expensive furnishings from the Far East littered every room with decadent abandon.

  His brother certainly knew how to live well, despite his circumstances. Since William, being the youngest, had been unable to inherit Gregory’s title of Baron, his brother had made do and had become a sheik instead. It would have been impressive indeed if the title carried any weight with the people from the region. But no Muslim could honestly bow down to a Westerner playing at sheik. And no Westerner would waste his breath on a Christian who became an infidel.

  Complicating matters further, William’s leprosy was in its advanced stages now, and well, his life really meant very little to anyone of importance. He was doubly cursed and Gregory found an odd satisfaction in that.

  The baron could smell his brother before he saw him. The disease that played havoc against William caused a most foul stench from his bedchambers. It smelled of rotten, decomposing flesh…an odor that the baron had become all too familiar with since coming to the Outremer.

  Gregory quietly slid a velvet curtain aside and stepped into William’s chambers. The baron wasn’t surprised at all to find his brother bent over an altar in prayer. William had always been the more devout of the two brothers…whether to a Christian or Muslim god.

  The older brother stood in the doorway; arms folded over his tunic. After a few moments, he cleared his throat, prompting William to turn his head. The baron gasped involuntarily at the grotesque visage that stared back at him. The younger man’s face was grossly deformed with snow white skin resembling a corpse pulled from the Jordan, with hair just as pallid. Nodules of puss and boils layered over his features, completely distorting the handsome qualities he once had. His nose had long since been surgically removed from his face to allow for clearer breathing and the flesh around his lips had all but disappeared, giving him an almost skeletal resemblance. William truly was as repulsive as his stench suggested.

  “Forgive me,” William said as he arose, walked over to a night table, and began wrapping h
is head with linen bandages. Gregory noted that his brother appeared more stooped than the last time they had spoken. “I wasn’t expecting company. Had I but known, I would surely have prepared myself to avoid bringing any discomfort to you, my brother.”

  Gregory waited impatiently as his brother worked shakily to cover his face. He walked over to the center of the room and plopped down amid the pile of plush silk pillows that were used for lounging in such homes.

  “Really William,” said Gregory. “When will you bring some civilization to these rags you call a home and purchase some real furniture? No wonder you are stooping. I could hardly imagine having to climb in and out of these pillows every time I wanted to sit.”

  His brother ignored the comment, merely waving Gregory over to sit across from him on the other side of a small table that was used primarily for dining.

  “May I offer you something? Wine? Food? Absolution?”

  “No thank you,” Gregory replied with a dry smirk. “I have no need of any of those things.”

  “Well, then, what do I owe the pleasure of this most unexpected visit?” William said as he clapped his hands together in quick succession. Immediately three veiled, but undoubtedly lovely maidservants entered the chamber, each bearing oversized palm fronds. Once in place at different corners of the room, the trio began fanning the room to provide much needed air circulation.

  Tufic, also, with two rather formidable looking guards, walked in at that moment, but remained silent. They stood at the doorway, devoted sentries committed to protecting their charge at all costs. Gregory could not help notice that the two men appeared to be of Western descent and bore little resemblance to the Palestinians who populated the region. They also seemed particularly familiar, though he couldn’t fathom from where he’d ever seen them before. Of course, it was really of no importance. He was here for information about the Djinn…not where William acquired his staff. Once he had what he sought, he would leave this filthy place and be on his way.

  “I need some help with a rather small problem, brother. It seems that I’m having a bit of difficulty with a local myth from these parts.”

  “You mean the totems you’ve been so obsessed about for the last nine years?” asked William. “Really, Gregory when will you give up? They’re merely the things of legend. I truly doubt there is any truth to those old stories. I mean, really…men made of clay that...”

  “It’s not that,” the baron interrupted. “It’s something…something entirely different.”

  “Then what, pray tell, are you talking about? What myth? What kind of trouble?” William said as he dipped a grape into a chilled cream made from goat’s milk and popped the delicacy into his mouth through an almost imperceptible slit cut into the linen wrappings around his face.

  Gregory knew that his brother was feigning indifference. Of course, William would revel in any misfortune that befell him and he obviously wanted to savor the moment as best he could.

  “Well, as I said, it is merely a trifle actually. I just require a little of your exquisite knowledge of the Saracen lore.”

  William’s eyes looked up from the dish of fruit on the table before him. Although Gregory was unable to see past the bandages wrapped around his brother’s disfigured face, he was sure there was an amused smile there. And it infuriated him.

  Still, if it would help him deal with the nuisance of this silly superstition plaguing his camp, the baron was willing to play the game.

  “I’m referring to anything you know about a mythological creature known as a…” Gregory’s tongue stumbled over the word. He couldn’t believe he was actually going to say it. After all, to do so gives credence to such outlandish fables. “…a djinn.”

  The servant girls stopped their fanning. The silence in the room grew deafening. No one moved, except for Tufic who immediately slipped from the room, unnoticed by all save Gregory.

  “A djinn?” said William, whose countenance had instantly shifted from delight to mortified seriousness. “What do you know of the djinni?”

  “Nothing! Nothing at all. That’s why I’ve come to you.”

  The baron’s brother reclined against an oversized pillow. One gloved finger absently pushed the fruit bowl away from the edge of the table, as the leper looked up into the folds of the tent in a taciturn glare.

  “You’ve seen one?” William finally broke the silence. “You’ve actually seen one?”

  “Of course not! Such a thing would have to exist for one to see it,” said Gregory. “However, my men are being troubled. They are being hunted…hounded by someone…the local Saracens around Jerusalem have given him a name. The Djinn.”

  The baron told his brother all that happened to his men, the merchants, and townspeople since the Djinn had first appeared. He explained how the men were growing irrational over these encounters despite Gregory’s own protests over the validity of any supernatural explanations that had been espoused. He even found the nerve to speak of the creature’s attack on Horatio and his idiot cousin, though he left out how the Djinn had missed the Essene monk. There was no point in his brother discovering how close he truly was to finally fulfilling his…obsession, as William had called it.

  The leper burst out with contagious laughter at the account of Horatio.

  “Oh, poor Horatio!” William said between spurts of laughter. “He must truly have been beside himself. Doubly so afterward, I’d imagine.”

  “He was,” the baron couldn’t help but find the humor in it. “He tried so hard to put on airs of bravery, but from all accounts, he was completely useless during the entire ordeal. Imagine, being terrified of a ghost story!”

  The two men shared laughter that was rarely heard in William’s home. Suddenly, the younger man’s countenance grew somber.

  “But why dismiss Horatio’s account so quickly? He’s never been prone to irrational fancies and he only rarely drinks while on duty.”

  “Because the very idea is ludicrous. It is merely a myth concocted by infidel dogs!”

  “And how do you know this creature isn’t what the locals claim it to be?”

  Gregory’s brother had always been prone to believe those tales of a more spiritual nature, but he never would have imagined him falling for something so…so preposterous.

  “Surely, you jest!” the baron asked. “You might as well tell me you believe in the old hobgoblin stories our parents told us when we growing up.”

  “I’m serious, brother.”

  “So am I!” Gregory exploded from his cushion. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I mean, I realize that your faculties must be suffering a great deal from this…this filthy disease. They would have to be for you to turn from your God to follow after a heathen one…”

  “Wait just a minute, brother!” William spat as he jumped up from his own seat. “You listen to me now. I have never renounced my faith in Christ! Never! And I have had it up to here with those who suggest otherwise.”

  Gregory was speechless at the leper’s outburst. He could hardly move. He’d never seen his brother so angry—at least not in a long while.

  “What I renounced was my faith in the Roman Church…a Church that would wage war on people of a different religion for the sole purpose of bolstering their land holdings and fiefs for their knights.” William glared down at the baron, the stoop of his shoulders replaced with fiery defiance. “I renounced my faith in a Church that required murder for the remission of sins. But Christ still reigns in my heart and don’t you ever forget it! I suppose the other nobles can believe whatever they want…but you of all people should know better.”

  Gregory knew he needed to calm his brother down. He had not yet required the intelligence he had sought and William’s illness would not allow him to continue this tirade for long without draining him completely.

  “I’m sorry dear brother,” Gregory said, holding his palms out in show of peaceful supplication. “I’m truly sorry. Please forgive me.”

  One of the servant girls moved
toward her master, ready to catch him in case he fainted. The movement wasn’t necessary. William gently collapsed onto the cushions again and absently tossed a date into his mouth.

  “All right, Gregory,” William finally said. “You want to know about the djinn. Here’s what I know. You cannot win against such a thing. The legends go back for centuries…even before the time of Mohammed. The Quran speaks of them as spirits made entirely of smokeless flame. Like humans, they are said to have free will and can be a force for good or a creature of unimaginable evil. They are often considered guardian spirits and sorcerers have sought for centuries ways to bind them to their will.”

  William took a sip of wine from his jewel encrusted goblet and smiled.

  “King Solomon supposedly learned the secret to this, actually,” he said as his eyes drifted up to the rafters of his tent. “At least that’s what the Quran says. He apparently learned to bind djinni to various objects…lamps, bottles, even walking sticks. Then he would force them to do his bidding…”

  “Wait.” It was now Gregory’s turn to leap from his seat. “What did you just say?”

  “About what?”

  “About Solomon. About him having the power to bind the spirits and force them to do his will. How, pray tell, was he able to accomplish this?”

  William sat quietly; his eyes closed as if trying to recollect some memory from long ago. A few seconds later, they opened once more and he nodded. “I believe legends say he used a ring. Supposedly a magic ring known as the Ring of Aandaleeb, but more commonly referred to as the Seal of Solomon.”

  Once more, Gregory could hardly contain the smile that threatened to break out across his haggard face.

  “Aandaleeb?”

  William shrugged. “I think that’s what it’s called. Why?”

  This time, the baron didn’t bother to contain his own amusement. “Why, dear brother…that’s one of the very objects I’ve been searching for all these long years. For the totems, as you call them. You’re essentially telling me that if I find it, I will be able to kill two birds with a single stone.”