The Amulets of Sihr

by Abu Bilaal Yakub

  He entered a deserted alley to cut through to the other side and avoid any open conflicts on the main street. Had Ussam’s wickedness spread so far south into Khalidah? Mukhtar was sickened and disheartened. Cruelty had substituted humanity, as his fellow citizens were crushed beneath the feet of corruption, and he could do nothing but watch. However strong the urge, he did not dare intervene. The harsh memories of whips and iron shackles were still too fresh.

  So engrossed were his thoughts, he did not see where he was headed. He collided with another man, and they both fell to the ground.

  “Fool!” The person retorted angrily. “Can you not see?”

  “My apologies, I did not mean—” he hastily stood to help the other person, “— Adil?”

  “How do you know— Mukhtar!”

  “Am I glad to see you!” Mukhtar held out his hand.

  When Adil declined to take it, Mukhtar took an uneasy step back, and watched his friend pick himself up.

  “You have returned,” Adil said calmly.

  “I have,” Mukhtar approached him warmly. “It has been too long.”

  “Indeed, it has,” Adil’s voice could not have been colder.

  Mukhtar froze. Something was wrong. “Are you not pleased to see me?” he asked.

  “Pleased?” Adil responded harshly. “Should I be?”

  Mukhtar was abashed. “What is the matter, Adil?”

  “Where have you been?” Adil yelled. “How do you justify deserting your kin, like your traitorous brother?”

  “Watch your tone, Adil!”

  “Do you know how much damage you have caused?”

  “I am warning you!”

  “Do you know how much pain and grief your selfishness has brought upon others?”

  “I was taken captive!” Mukhtar yelled. “Chained by malicious men, tortured and abused! I long for nothing but to return to my home!”

  “That is a most absurd lie!” Adil snarled and Mukhtar became bewildered. “Taken captive? Tortured? You seem fine to me, considering you are walking so freely the streets of Khalidah!”

  “How dare you—?”

  “Let me show you!” Adil took a menacing step forward, causing Mukhtar to instinctively draw his dagger.

  The buildings on either side did little to shelter them from the scorching sun. Pungent piles of garbage filled up half the alley against the mud walls, putrid streams seeping into the dirt while flies buzzed around in festivity. Two cats fought ferociously at the end of the alley, battling over a dead rodent until it was torn to bloody shreds. Mukhtar could not help but think to himself, would that perhaps be the result of this encounter? How had their friendship become so distant? There was a time when Mukhtar would reveal all his secrets to Adil, and the latter would do the same. Not that there had never been any disputes. They had had their equal shares of quarrels, but none that had ever resulted in a draw of steel and an air of hatred.

  “Put that away before you cut yourself!” Adil sneered, bringing Mukhtar’s thoughts back to the matter at hand.

  Rather than comply, Mukhtar held up the dagger, ready to strike.

  With a menacing step forward, Adil brandished his spear. “Do you really want to fight me, Mukhtar?”

  “Do not force my hand, Adil!” Mukhtar braced himself. “What is the meaning of this crudeness? Explain yourself!”

  Adil gave a small chuckle. “We have spent months in your search. You owe me an explanation.”

  “I owe you nothing!” Mukhtar declared. “I will give you nothing until I have seen mother!”

  “So speaks the Mighty Mukhtar,” Adil mocked. “You return on your high horse, making demands and issuing commands, as if nothing wrong has happened!”

  Mukhtar stared at him disbelievingly. “Why are you speaking that way?”

  “Why did you do really do it?” Adil pressed.

  Mukhtar gave him a puzzled look. “Why did I do what? What has happened, Adil? Why are you speaking this way?”

  “Did you find what you sought?” Adil almost sounded hysterical. “Did you find the glory and valor? Will you now proclaim yourself a savior?”

  Mukhtar gaped at him. “Whatever is troubling you, I will explain. I will tell you all what has happened,” his temper was steadily rising. His hands were beginning to tremble and blood was rushing to his head, forcibly so by the scorching sun and the repulsive stench of garbage in the alley. “But I must see my Ummi first. I must see my Khal and Khala. Now, step aside and let me return to my home, or brace yourself for a fight you will regret!”

  More to Mukhtar’s bewilderment, Adil’s lips curled into a small grin. “Very well,” he casually drew back his spear and his voice became suspiciously calmer. “Follow me.”

  Angered and confused, Mukhtar concealed his dagger inside his sleeve and followed Adil into the streets. A half hour later, they approached the wooden doors of the House of Zafar.

  “Step aside!” Mukhtar furiously elbowed Adil before he could swing the iron knocker on the door.

  Whatever the repercussions of his actions at that moment, he did not care. This was his home. Long had he envisioned himself returning to it, and he would not allow his desires to be ruined by Adil’s arrogance, not in that moment. He could feel Adil’s eyes puncturing the back of his skull. When the door opened, Adil forcefully brushed him aside, and stepped through the doors.

  “Look who showed up!” he declared to Mika’il, who stood at the door and gaped at Mukhtar as though he had seen a ghost.

  “Salaam, Khal,” Mukhtar said.

  Mika’il’s eyes became teary as he moved forward with trembling hands and pulled his nephew into a fatherly embrace. “Mukhtar!” he croaked. “God Almighty be praised!” He began to sob, and Mukhtar was unable to control himself. Mika’il’s voice was more than enough to shatter his heart with emotion.

  “Ummi?”

  “In there,” Mika’il nudged his head, gesturing past the fountain.

  Mukhtar crossed the brief courtyard in four short strides, and stepped through the door. He caught a glimpse of the semi-dark room with its moth-eaten rug and worn cushions, then there was a yelp, followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision was completely obscured by cloth and hair — Suha had thrown herself onto him in a hug so tight, it knocked the breath out him.

  “Mukhtar! He has returned to us, Fariebah! Oh, Praise be the Almighty, The Lord of the Worlds. The most Gracious, The most Merciful! Truly, he has returned you to us! Oh, my poor boy! I searched for you in the Souk— then I went home! I prayed for your return! And I waited— we searched everywhere—”

  “You— are— squeezing— the— life— out— of— me!”

  “Let him breathe, Suha,” Mika’il entered the room with a hearty chuckle, followed by Adil. Mukhtar could almost have sworn he saw his friend give his uncle a discreet nudge.

  Fariebah came forward and hugged Mukhtar as well. She gave him a small kiss on his cheek and smiled happily. “Praise be to God Almighty who has returned you to us safely!”

  Mika’il sat down on a cushion against the wall, pulled his hukah closer, and inhaled deeply from it, blowing out a large white cloud that engulfed him whole. He may have seemed pleased to see his nephew moments before, but a coldness had settled into his tone when he demanded an explanation for Mukhtar’s absence.

  “Perhaps he should rest—” Suha protested, reaching out to feel Mukhtar’s forehead, but Mika’il held up a hand and insisted.

  Mukhtar gave his mother a reassuring look, and settled down across his uncle, choosing his words carefully. He began with hesitation, only to find that he could no longer resist from speaking. The only bits he left out of his grim and dismal tale were his experiences with the unknown voice, his journey through Arammoria, and all the specifics he had discussed with Ghasif and Rauf regarding the Amulet. He did his best to paint them as mere travelers who had taken pity and helped him journey home.

  “I escaped,” he said when they pressed him for details, “they were carele
ss, and I saw an opportunity.”

  “Both my sons in grave danger!” Suha gasped when Mukhtar told them what had happened at the Walls of Murfaqat. “What have they done to deserve this?”

  “Mukhtar has done nothing to deserve this,” Mika’il commented. “It is Zaki who is to blame.”

  “Why would you say that?” Fariebah asked her husband angrily. “He is your nephew!”

  “He deserted his kin to become a Red-Guard!” Mika’il argued. “Every decision he ever made has been thoughtless to the repercussions.”

  “That is untrue!” Suha remarked.

  “Untrue? His willingness to accept the mission of pursuing the Assassins of Ghuldad is what has brought such a fate upon your sons, Suha. There can be no other explanation.”

  Mukhtar kept silent. Suha was right. Zaki’s captaincy in the Red-Guard, and his mission to pursue the Assassins, had nothing to do with Mukhtar’s tragedy. He did not wish to hear his brother slandered, but as long as their thoughts were drawn away from the grim truth of the matter, he pursed his lips and allowed the conversation to steer in that direction.

  “Do not speak of my son that way, Mika’il!” Suha’s voice trembled with anger and Mukhtar nearly gasped. He had never heard his mother address his uncle by name. It was usually a respectable title of ‘Brother Mika’il’ or just ‘Brother’. “It is true that he left on his own accord, but his fate was never his own to choose!”

  “They are bound by oath,” Fariebah supported her sister’s outlook in defending Zaki. “It was never his choice to make. Long has he tried to return home—”

  Mika’il brushed aside everything the sisters said. “You give that man too much credit, Fariebah, but you understand very little about him—”

  “And you know my son better than I?” Suha snapped.

  “Get a hold of yourself, Suha!” Mika’il said sternly. “The Red-Guard sends their most celebrated Captain into the wolf’s den, and if what Mukhtar says is true, then Zaki is now a branded traitor and deserter. You must ask yourself; what has he done to become their prey?”

  They all fell silent. Fariebah gave her husband a disgruntled look before opening a window to ventilate the room of Mika’il’s hashish smoke, while Mukhtar’s thoughts strayed to the Amulet that remained hidden under his bed upstairs, and he was overcome with a sense of urgency. What if it was no longer there?

  “I must leave!” he declared. “I have left Ghasif and Rauf in Babu’s old cabin by the river.”

  “Why must they remain there?” Fariebah suggested. “We have room to accommodate them. Perhaps you should invite them for a meal?” She suggested to her husband. “We owe them so much for bringing Mukhtar home. It would be most discourteous if we do not show them hospitality.”

  Mukhtar shook his head and became irritated. “Their business is their own, and they will depart when their work is done. You need not burden yourselves.”

  “Do you not hear yourself?” Adil asked in a contemptuous tone. Mukhtar turned sharply and cricked his neck. He had almost forgotten that Adil was there.

  “Stay out of this, Adil,” Mukhtar warned.

  “And allow you to break your mother’s heart again?” Adil stated. “How are you so different from your brother then?” His head tilted to his side.

  Mukhtar tensed. Their earlier encounter was still afresh in his mind. “This is a matter between kin,” he said through gritted teeth, “and not one that should concern you!”

  “How very courteous of you to appreciate the efforts of others,” Adil mocked. “I am sure you thought about us on your travels!”

  “Did you listen to nothing I said?” Mukhtar struggled to keep his temper under control. “I was enslaved! Tortured!”

  “Call it what you will!” Adil gave a casual wave.

  “Are you insane?” Mukhtar remarked.

  “Just like your brother, you are!” Adil affronted. “Pretend that you were without choice!”

  Mukhtar stared at him disbelievingly, and it suddenly dawned on him that they had discussed his disappearance to some extent, and had drawn their own obvious conclusions.

  “You can allow your him to take all the blame for you,” Adil continued to assert, “but it was your involvement with those slaves that has brought all this trouble.”

  As the words were spoken, they struck Mukhtar like a bolt of lightning. In that moment alone, he regretted ever saying anything to Adil.

  “Adil!” Mika’il flashed him look of warning.

  “No!” Adil held up his hand. “Why have you fallen silent, Mukhtar? Do not try to mask the truth! Tell them what really happened!”

  “Adil!” Mika’il warned him again.

  Fariebah had covered her mouth, her expression terrified. Suha’s eyes darted from Adil to Mukhtar disbelievingly, her mouth slightly ajar. “What is he saying, Mukhtar? What slaves?”

  Mukhtar shook with anger. The hatred in his eyes was meant only for Adil. They saw only betrayal. Fury tingling through his body, he curled his fists and stood. “You treacherous—”

  “Enough!” Mika’il yelled, suddenly appearing between them and spreading his arms out to keep them from hurling at each other.

  “Your defiance is disrespectful to everyone in this room and all their efforts to bring you home safely!” Adil remarked, not taking his eyes off Mukhtar.

  “Your efforts have only shown me your true colors!” Mukhtar did not bother disguising the contempt in his voice. “You are no friend of mine, traitor!”

  A stony silence engulfed them. Adil was the first to leave. With a look of pure loathing for Mukhtar, he turned and walked out of the room. They heard him cursing loudly in the courtyard, followed by a slam of the front door.

  Mika’il gave a deep, strained sigh, and spoke to Suha and Fariebah as calmly as he could, “Prepare some food for Mukhtar to take for his guests.”

  Suha began to protest, but was pulled aside by her sister, and she reluctantly left the room.

  “Typically,” Mika’il began, once he and Mukhtar were alone, “I would have prodded you further to understand how deep you have sunk. The evidence, however, is conspicuous based on what you have been through and what you have told us. Regardless, you must never forget, that even though anger sometimes takes hold of the best of us, it has never been, nor will it ever be of any substantial benefit.”

  Mukhtar gave him an odd look. “What do you mean?”

  “There was no need to speak that way!” Mika’il asserted, pointing at the door, and Mukhtar knew he was referring to Adil’s departure.

  “And what of how he spoke?” Mukhtar argued, with a rather harsh tone. “Was there any need for that? I have endured endless battles for months, and all he could think of was his comfort!”

  “He does not think that way at all—” Mika’il said.

  “I care not what he thinks!” Mukhtar interrupted, even though he knew he did not mean it.

  “Mukhtar!” Mika’il’s tone became stony and stern. “I plead you to understand. Such actions have grave consequences, and you will have to bear them for a lifetime!”

  Unspoken words were exchanged between them, and as he gazed intently into Mika’il’s beady eyes, he suddenly realized something he should have years ago.

  “You knew my father was to be arrested?” Mukhtar gasped. “You knew, and did nothing of it!”

  “Before you continue to throw accusations, understand what I am trying to tell you,” Mika’il responded with immense effort. “No one knew anything about your father. He became a changed man after the war. Although related through family, your father and I were also the very best of friends. But our friendship waned as his ambitions thrived to a point where we could no longer see eye to eye. His choices and actions had consequences. Grave consequences. When Immorkaan came through those very doors—” he pointed toward the courtyard, “— and took him away, he had none to blame but himself.”

  Suha’s voice sounded from the courtyard.

  “I urge you Mukhtar,” Mi
ka’il continued in a lower tone, “do not follow the same path as your father; do not echo his sins.” He toyed with the ring on his finger for a brief moment, lost in thought. Pure silver, with a dark obsidian stone embedded into its crown gleaming as though it had recently been polished. He pulled it out and handed it to Mukhtar. “Keep it.”

  “Khal?”

  “I once rescued an elderly man from a pair of corrupt city guards,” Mika’il explained. “I was young then, energetic. Much like you, I would not stand for oppression. Like me, the old man had no successor to bear his name forward, no sons or daughters to bear his heirloom. You are the closest I have to a son, and I praise The Almighty for gifting me with you.”

  Mukhtar felt his throat twitch as tears threatened to engulf him. Suha called for him again, and he glanced at the door.

  “He rewarded me with this ring,” Mika’il continued. “He called me son. I am calling you son. May it enlighten you as it has enlightened me.”

  Suha called a third time.

  “Do not carry the burdens of your kin on such a path,” he continued. “The only way you can bring peace to her is by undoing what wrong was done by your forebearers. She will be saddened, but time will heal all wounds.”

  Mukhtar nodded again, and with one last look upon his uncle, he left the room to meet his mother awaiting him in the courtyard with a package wrapped in cloth.

  However, the look on her face said it all. She had heard every word, and her eyes were filled with tears. She said nothing more, turned and headed up the stairs to her room. The emotional turmoils were overwhelming him such that the strain caused his old wounds to bear new pain. Not only had his best friend walked out on him in anger, now his mother was doing the same.

  He reached the cabin without realizing it, and entered to find Ghasif asleep on the bed, and Rauf sitting at his grandfather’s old floor-desk, reading.