The Amulets of Sihr

by Abu Bilaal Yakub

  “We have no other choice,” Laban also leaned forward and whispered with urgency in his voice. “Embrace this humble proposal, and together, we can drive back these evil forces to the dark abyss from whence they come. The four of us, here, today, must walk into the fiery pit for the sake of a free nation. I believe in that future. I believe in that New World, and I want to be there to guide and sculpt it into my own image, so that my children, and those after them, can live a life of peace, tranquility, and order.”

  Harun had heard enough. He stood briskly, urging Azhar to accompany him. They exited the tent and breathed in the crisp morning chill, squinting against the glare of the rising sun. Azhar dismissed Farid and turned to Harun once they were alone.

  “This is folly!” Harun declared. “How do we even know if their claims are true? Why have our own scouts not reported of such an army?”

  “I cannot ignore such a warning from another General, Harun!”

  “Then we can take heed his warning and prepare ourselves for battle!” Harun pressed on. “We can send out for aid from the Council. We can stand and fight this force,” he pointed at the entrance of the tent, “without their so-called sorcery!”

  “We can do no such thing,” Azhar stated calmly.

  “We cannot resort to such measures, Azhar,” Harun argued. “You cannot subject your men to sorcery. You have no right!”

  “And you have no authority over me!” Azhar remarked with a stern and commanding voice, forcing Harun to withdraw his assertiveness. “You heard Ussam, the enemy is already on their doorstep, just as it is on ours. And even if, by the miracle of God, can the Council spare reinforcements, no army can arrive here on time. The sandstorm moves further east. It will take several days for anyone to cross the desert and come to our aid. Laban is right, we have no other choice.”

  “Do not agree to this, Azhar,” Harun pleaded with him earnestly. “I have witnessed my father rot his life away to the wickedness of sorcery.”

  “I will not allow us to reach that dark horizon,” Azhar said sincerely. “I must look to the safety of my men. I must look to the dire need of ending this war. Trust in your General as you always have, Harun. We will survive this. With unity. With you by my side.”

  He turned and entered the tent. Harun followed and they returned to their seats. “You seem to have given this quite some thought,” Azhar said to Laban and Ussam.

  “We have,” Ussam answered, “and so should you. Without a clear understanding, we cannot hope to achieve the impossible, and there is no point in taking this any further. We have before us an opportunity to redefine the fate of mankind. Will you allow it to pass because of petty differences, or will you seize it for the greater good?”

  Harun struggled to demur, but their statements were irrefutable. He felt Azhar’s gaze on him and when he met his eye, they exchanged unspoken, consenting words. Defeating the Dark Prince’s ruthless and merciless forces, took precedence above all, and if it meant sacrificing their own lives for the sake of a greater good, then so be it. After a long and silent moment, they both gave assentive nods, to which Ussam and Laban breathed sighs of relief and triumph.

  Laban stood briskly, cleared his throat, and went to the wooden box, returning with a small leather pouch. From the pouch, he removed the four amulets. They gleamed in the candlelight. Fiery red. Icy blue. Emerald green. Citrine yellow. Each one glowing from within, mesmerizing and mystically alluring.

  “These are the Four Elements of Power,” he held each one up to show them. “The Elements of Creation. Fire. Water. Earth. Air. Each element with its unique strengths and weaknesses. With the blood of Zafar, the Rituals will be complete. The Four will awaken, and their elements will guide us, protect us, enlighten us, and one day, destroy us. This is our sacrifice for the betterment of mankind. For the greater good. From this hour henceforth, we are sworn to this Order and its Creed. Together we will build a better tomorrow. We will bring peace and prosperity, order and unity. We will build a New World.”

  ELEVEN

  THE FOUR ELEMENTS

  PRESENT DAY.

  The two Assassins remained as Mukhtar’s guests at the cabin for the following days, plotting every possible course of action, each seemingly more foolish and aimless than the last. Ghasif had sent a cryptic letter with a caravan to Aztalaan, where one of Ma’alim’s spies would receive the message that the three were safe and sound in Khalidah. They had not heard back from the Teacher for several days, and while they waited, the only subject of their discussion remained the Amulet.

  Rauf suggested its destruction. If one of the Amulets was destroyed, the enemy would be crippled. Upon closer scrutiny, however, this only seemed rash and unachievable. They did not know what powers were contained within the bluish gemstone, and therefore, did not know what it might unleash if it were destroyed. In addition, Ghasif argued that to destroy it would not necessarily hold the enemy off the hunt, and Mukhtar sided with him purely because he secretly did not wish to part with it.

  Whether it was sorcery or something of a more ethereal nature, he was deeply drawn to it, and the notion of destroying it disharmonized his thoughts in ways he could not quite understand.

  They had seen much in the Dead City, and time was against them. Although they wished to maintain secrecy for as long as possible, neither of them could deny the urgency to prepare for an inevitable war. Ghasif hoped to rally as many as he could under Ma’alim’s banner, but did not want to take any preemptive steps without the Teacher’s approval, and he remained adamant about it no matter how much Mukhtar itched to take some action.

  While they awaited word from the Ma’alim, Ghasif offered to train him in combat, something he had been looking forward to since his days as a slave of Ghuldad. It kept his agitation at bay, and gave him the opportunity to better his skills in preparation for what seemed to be an imminent war.

  Rather than dawdle, Rauf took on the responsibility to learn all he could about the Amulets and the Four Sorcerers of Ghuldad. This saw him disappear amidst books and scrolls for long hours, and Mukhtar participated wherever he could by researching through all the material in his grandfather’s cabin. When he was not reading appalling texts of witchcraft and the dark arts, or training with Ghasif, he spent his time within the confines of home.

  “Where should I keep these clothes, Ummi?” he asked Suha. The afternoon was the hottest yet, and rather than laze about, he decided to aid his mother with household chores. He hoped, perhaps, even to stir a conversation that may lead to some resolution.

  She gestured at the door of the storeroom and continued to pull the covers off cushions. Her silence had ceaselessly endured since his return, and required no interpretation. His conversation with Mika’il had clearly been overheard, and (according to Mukhtar) misunderstood. She was saddened by it, regardless. How heavy her heart must be, Mukhtar could only imagine. For a mother to have lost her son for many months, to have assumed his death, to bear the burden, the guilt and the grief of such a thought, only for his return to be marked with yet another departure. She would not find peace for a long while, and every time Mukhtar left the house to go to the cabin, there would be a shadow of anxiety in her eyes.

  “Forgive me, Ummi,” he laid the bundle of dirty clothes by the door, and helped her with the worn cushions. “I have no intention of bringing you sorrow. I will stand by you, as you have always stood by me.”

  She was neither sad nor angry. In a soft but firm voice, she said, “The time will come when you will build a home of your own, and bear the burdens of your kin. The time will come when you will leave me to age and wither by myself, for that time is inevitable. When you will feel the joy and grief of a parent, and what you do in the present will determine the future of your children. You were always destined for great things, Mukhtar, as do all who crave ambition, but there is no shame in leading a simple life. Whatever greatness you are pursuing, however, I can only give you my blessing, and pray to my Creator that he grants you success, and guid
es you to the right path.”

  Abashed, Mukhtar dropped the murky-brown cushion. His hands were clammy, his throat constricted. He had expected an objection, a disapproval, even anger. Not a consent. It felt more like an acceptance; the acknowledgment of an inevitability. Mukhtar hated it because it felt inaccurate. It did injustice to his inner motives. He never sought glory nor valor. He never sought a greatness of any kind, but in the end, he could not allow evil and wickedness to endure. Not while he still breathed. Did she not see how much suffering there was in the world? Did she not see the suffering of her neighbor and dear friend, Samiya, who was at the mercy of a drunken husband?

  It happened more frequently than ever before. Mukhtar was woken by her woeful wails, sometimes during the darkest hours of the night, as Gizwani continued to exert his cruelty upon her. It was all Mukhtar could do to remain within the confines of his own home and not storm through the doors with his dagger in hand. Suha knew, and expressly forbade him from intervening. This was a matter between husband and wife, she had said.

  It had saddened him even more, to learn that Mika’il had long forsaken his forge to the hands of Ghulam Mirza. It was a battle he claimed to have lost, long before he even thought of fighting.

  “Would you give up your life’s work so easily?” Mukhtar questioned.

  “I am old, Mukhtar,” Mika’il replied wearily. “I can no longer battle the tedious and unjust tribunals of Immorkaan. Let them have the forge. There is no more wealth nor bounty left to it. I have decided. Fariebah and I will go to Mirzaan. We will use what little we have left, and recede to a simple life of toiling soil and herding cattle.”

  Mukhtar chuckled, unable to picture his uncle before the udder of a cow. “Farming?”

  “What is wrong with farming?” Mika’il raised an eyebrow.

  “Nothing,” Mukhtar said quickly. “Nothing at all. I wish it for you, if it will help you be at peace with yourself.”

  Mika’il raised another eyebrow. “And have you made peace with yourself?” he asked after a brief pause.

  Mukhtar became grim. He knew what his uncle was referring to. It had taken him several days to muster the courage and confront Adil. His intention was to seek absolution, but their conversation failed to bear any fruit.

  Two days before, he had found Adil in the company of none other than Yael Varda, now Captain of their squadron, and his usual accomplices Nabun, Qurais, and Jubair.

  Since his Captaincy, Yael and his accomplices found no reason to remain dutiful to their uniforms. They were commonly found playing games of chance to pass the time, or bullying merchants and extorting bribes to fill their pockets. They were doing just that, under the canopy of a teashop close to the Souk Al-Huda. Noon was ablaze with a scorching sun and the streets were a hive of activity, throngs pouring in and out of the Souk.

  “What do you want?” Adil spat. He was leaning against the mud wall, chewing Khat while watching the others play.

  “I wish to speak with you,” Mukhtar glanced at the others. He was not afraid of them, but he was outnumbered. To pick a fight would be foolish and reckless, regardless of all the skills he was learning from Ghasif.

  “He does not wish to speak with you, imbecile!” Nabun retorted. “Now go away!”

  Mukhtar ignored him. He had not come to contend with the likes of Yael and Nabun. “Adil…” he called, in as respectful a voice as he could muster.

  Adil folded his arms and looked away, as if the pebble to which his gaze was drawn was far more interesting than Mukhtar. His jaw moved up and down, slowly churning a mound of the green, intoxicating substance in his mouth. This only infuriated Mukhtar more than he already was. Adil was never one to indulge in intoxications, nor was he ever so arrogant and disdainful towards Mukhtar. Would this be an end to what they had held dear for so many years?

  Yael confirmed it. He and the others stood, drawing their swords and spears as they advanced toward him.

  “Leave, cur! Or we will send you to your mother in a bucket!”

  Mukhtar glanced at Adil disbelievingly. Never before had he stood aside and allowed Yael to bully Mukhtar. How things had changed.

  That was the last Mukhtar had seen or heard of him. He visited Saif that very afternoon, and narrated what had happened.

  “He is angered,” Saif told him. “And this anger has caused him to be misguided. Give him time. He will find his way.”

  “They drew swords on me, Saif!” Mukhtar asserted. “In broad daylight! And Adil did nothing but look away with hateful eyes. I suspect his heart is filled with jealousy.”

  “Jealousy?” Saif frowned slightly. “Perhaps,” he gave a meek shrug. “I have never known him to be jealous, but he is human. It is only natural that he should feel that way. Ever has he wanted to shine with glory, to be the man his father has become. Yet it is Yael that takes Captaincy of his squad. It is from him that he must take orders.”

  “And is that justifiable cause to disband our friendship?”

  “Do you not see?” Saif urged. “He blames you for freeing the slaves. It should have been him, not you. He blames you for taking away his ambitions and chances of valor. You should have gone to him, called for his aid to free those slaves. To him, that was his opportunity to show his worth.”

  “That is absurd of him!” Mukhtar growled. “His father is wealthy. He is born of royal blood. How much more glory does he seek? And what glory is to be found in freeing slaves? Absurdity!” he muttered an afterthought. “Small-minded thinking!”

  Saif gave a lighthearted chuckle. “Having the General as your father may not be as astounding as you assume, Mukhtar. Ever have you failed to understand his intricate relations with the royal family. He has defied them all to have a bond with the likes of you and I. We are leagues apart Mukhtar. The very air we breathe is different, you must always remember that. Only then will you understand him.”

  “That is untrue, Saif,” Mukhtar argued. “Have I not always stood by him when he was faced with such predicaments? Have I not always comforted him when he spoke of troubles with his relations? There can be no justification for his behavior. It is envy, I tell you!”

  “Envy is the religion of the wicked,” Saif affirmed. “Adil is not wicked. Give him time, Mukhtar. Time will mend what is broken between you and him.”

  Saif regularly attended lectures and sermons at the local Masjid, and was known to speak words of wisdom when the occasion arose. However, despite his sound counsel, the days endured, and Mukhtar heard nothing from Adil. Whether more time was needed, or their friendship had indeed run its course, Mukhtar did not know. Instead, he focused his efforts on helping Ghasif and Rauf. Much to his disappointment and frustration, they were making just as much progress as his attempts at reconciling with Adil.

  One hot and humid afternoon, Ghasif sat quietly on the bed, reading, while Mukhtar and Rauf dawdled lazily on the porch of the cabin.

  “Do you think Ussam will march upon the Empire?” Mukhtar asked Rauf.

  Rauf shrugged lightly. He was lying beside Mukhtar, staring at the branches above. The melodic chirping of birds, and cooling shade of the leaves below a scorching sun, seemed to invite nothing short of a nap.

  “Warfare courses through his veins relentlessly,” he replied lazily. “He has refined his tactics over the years. His methods and ideologies have shaped us into the Assassins we are. But he is no fool. He will not risk open war if he can avoid it. He will seek a more insidious approach.”

  “All the more dangerous,” Mukhtar commented.

  “Indeed,” Rauf said. “He no longer honors the rules of engagement, and a man without honor is limitless in deceit.”

  “Come in here, you two!” Ghasif called.

  “You come here!” Rauf responded, and Mukhtar did not object.

  They heard him mutter something that sounded like ‘lazy fools’ before he stepped out, reading aloud from a book titled ‘The Disguise of The Unseen’.

  “Pagan belief has always the stars for divini
ty and power. From predicting the future to determining birth rites and destinies, the depiction of a star has become a symbol for the occult. In sorcery, the five tips of the pentagram star each represent a key instrument. Upon discovery of the Amulets, the elements fundamental to creation were embraced as symbols of power. Their existence is ambiguous, hypothetical, and forever questionable, or perhaps it is knowledge divine.”

  Up-side-down, Mukhtar stared at him with a dazed look. “I understood very little of what you just said.” Then he coughed. “Truthfully— I understood nothing.”

  “I have read that book, Ghasif,” Rauf pointed out. “It contains nothing but the ramblings of a storyteller.”

  “You have seen the Khalidan insignia?” Ghasif rolled his eyes. “The tips of the star? The symbol of the Five Cities?”

  “And what of it?” Rauf mumbled.

  Ghasif sighed. “It is a symbol of sorcery, a mark used to summon that which resides beyond the veil. Picture five Amulets rearranged to form that very shape. You spent so many hours through all the books in there,” he pointed into the cabin, “how could you not have seen this symbol?”

  Nothing more was needed to waken Mukhtar and Rauf from their afternoon muse.

  “I did see the symbol, but thought nothing of it,” Rauf said indifferently, but his eyes were wide with interest.

  The Khalidan insignia was first forged by the Council of Elders when the Great War was won. When Azhar emerged victorious and called for a unified Empire. Under the governance of a newly formed Immorkaan, the Elder Council he appointed declared the forging of the insignia of a five-pointed star to signify the unity of the five nations that were now the largest cities in all of the Uzad Peninsula. Each point of the star, symbolized by a unique portrayal of a majestic being, advocated each city. Khalidah, the Lion, the bottom tip of the star. Din-Galad, the Eagle, to its left. Arammoria, the Snake, to its right. Aztalaan, the Wolf, at its upper-most left, and Ninya, the Jackal, to its right.