The Amulets of Sihr

by Abu Bilaal Yakub

  “It does not matter,” Zaki said. “We need to know what he knew. We need that knowledge!”

  Mika’il gave a small chuckle and shook his head. “You are just as headstrong as your father! Knowledge is learned. It is not given. It is earned, deduced, absorbed, ascertained, and then it is preserved—” he put a finger to his temple, “—in here. We can only keep traces of that knowledge, on stone and parchment, to remind us of what was, is, and what may be.”

  “Stop spinning our words, Khal!” Zaki’s tone became stern. “Where are these traces of stone and parchment?”

  Mika’il gave a deep sigh, gazing at them for a long while before he spoke. “Why are you pursuing Ghulam Mirza?”

  The question, simple and straightforward, was not unexpected.

  “We are not,” Mukhtar tried to keep a straight face. It was a lie, and as soon as he said it, he felt a strong impulse to stand up and run into the wall.

  “Have you taken your uncle for a fool?” Mika’il raised his eyebrows, as well as his voice, and his anger was now directed at Mukhtar’s lie. “Hassin dies on Saif’s bed. Ghadan dies on the same night. The city has been gripped by fear, worsened by Immorkaan and those they command, and all this began with the deaths of their own pawns. Ghadan was a perpetrator and a pest, but never was he canny enough to think for himself. And this note?” He brandished the piece of bloody parchment. “What am I to make of this? Do not lie to me, Mukhtar!”

  Mukhtar’s ears reddened. He opened his mouth to speak, but Zaki interrupted, “Ghulam Mirza is responsible for Hassin’s death. He is responsible for taking away your livelihood.”

  “And you are responsible for bringing him to justice?” Mika’il snapped at him. “What do you really want from me, Zaki? Do you seek sanction? My permission? Have you not already done enough without my counsel?”

  Zaki’s eyes narrowed. “If you cannot help us, we will find another way!”

  Mika’il shook his head disbelievingly, and Mukhtar gave Zaki a nervous glance. This was not the first time he had seen his uncle shake his head that way. It was a year back when, on yet another occasion, Zaki had argued and defended his actions of leaving home to search for their father. As much as Mika’il continued to express how wrong he was, Zaki continued to argue his right to do so. This time was no different, as Zaki was once again on the same path.

  “Your father was—” Mika’il’s voice trembled with much restraint, “— your father was many things. Very much gifted in secrecy, his greatest attribute, and also his greatest failure. He kept many secrets within the four walls of his study, the windowless room where he spent hours upon hours, pouring over script and scroll.” He reached forward and returned the note to Mukhtar. “Your mother has kept the key safe.”

  Zaki nodded curtly, and Mukhtar stood up with haste.

  “Do not look for comfort in that room,” Mika’il warned, just as they were about to leave. “Do not look for hope. Much of what you may see, has been preserved since the day he was arrested.” He looked at them earnestly. “Your father was lost on this path. Whatever you find, I urge you both, do not pursue the same madness.”

  Suha had always struggled to keep Harun’s past a secret from her children, succeeding for the most part. Harun’s study was, for the past ten years, the most close-guarded secret. She never went in, not even to clean, and kept the key on her person at all times. The last time Mukhtar had entered his father’s study was when he was only a child. After his father’s imprisonment, every attempt to gain entry was foiled and barred.

  Over time, Mukhtar had mostly given up much of his father’s memory, holding on to a mere handful of pieces that distinguished him from Zaki and his adamant belief that Harun might still be alive, lost to the wilderness or else locked away in a dingy dark cell for the last ten years. How else— was Zaki’s reasoning— could Harun’s disappearance be explained? How could a man just vanish from a locked cell in the dungeons of the Royal Palace? How can a man just disappear off the face of the earth, with not a shimmer of evidence? Zaki believed that Harun was still alive, and that had been his drive in life since he ran away in pursuit.

  If Mukhtar thought it a difficult task to acquire information from Mika’il, he had yet to face a greater challenge. It took no short amount of pleading and bargaining to convince their mother to relinquish the key while keeping secret their reasons and motives. She was even more tenacious than Mika’il, angered at them merely asking for the key. It was a long, lengthy and rather emotional battle. She eventually surrendered when Mukhtar’s relentlessly reminded her of her vow to relinquish her hold over the past.

  The study shared a wall with Mukhtar’s room, half the size, windowless, and nearly full to the brim with piles of books, heaps of parchment, and an assortment of strange and intricate instruments of brass, copper, iron, and glass. A worn floor-desk sat over a moth-eaten rug, littered with quills, stained with dried ink, and dripping with candle wax. Layers of dust were upset with every step they took as they shuffled into the room.

  Zaki, using an oil lamp, browsed through one section while Mukhtar did the other side with a goat-wax candle.

  “Careful with that,” Zaki warned, and Mukhtar held his dripping candle upright.

  “This is gruesome!” Mukhtar could not keep the recoil from his voice. He was flipping through a book titled The Eye of the Sun, filled with horrifying images and diagrams. He held the light closer to other books, and read their titles aloud, “Scriptures of the Mountain Sufis. A Brief Study of Mythical Creatures. What to Do When a Ma’arid Attacks. What is a Ma’arid, do you know?”

  Zaki was not listening. “Never have I seen stranger scripts…” he muttered, searching through a pile of tattered parchments on the floor. “Look,” he fished out a book from the pile, “Abha’s journal,” and began flipping through the pages. “This name…” he said after a short while. “Siyaad… have you heard it before? It is mentioned in nearly every one of his recollections.”

  “Yes,” Mukhtar replied, much to Zaki’s surprise. “I have heard Ummi and Khala speak of him more than once. He was Abha’s half-brother, died as a child.”

  “This seems to speak otherwise,” Zaki indicated the journal. “See for yourself!”

  Mukhtar shrugged, but did not care to even glance at it. Zaki gave him a puzzled look and demanded an explanation with raised eyebrows.

  “It matters not what the journal says,” Mukhtar responded. “For all we know, these could be entirely different entities. The name I have heard belonged to an infant, born in Uduff, taken by the fever and buried beside its mother on the slopes of Mount Hifa.”

  “You have a strange way of constituting the aberrant,” Zaki stated.

  “I am not fabricating tales!” Mukhtar scowled.

  “Then why would Abha write of him as if he were still alive?” Zaki pressed.

  “It may not be the same person, Zaki,” Mukhtar argued. “And why should it even matter? Abha chose to keep it secret. He kept everything secret from us! That journal, and everything it contains, is just as dead as he!”

  “Just as dead?” Zaki’s nostrils flared.

  “Abha is dead, Zaki!” Mukhtar did not bother disguising it, as much as it pained to say. “It is time you learned to accept it!”

  “I refuse to accept it!” Zaki threw down the journal, upsetting a puff of dust.

  “Had you remained instead of running off with the Red-Guard, perhaps you would have!” Mukhtar retorted.

  Rage became apparent and etched on his scarred face. His jaw was set, and a vein twitched in his temple. Mukhtar was not intimidated. Cautious, yes, but otherwise prepared for a fight. He knew Zaki’s temper would not hold for long. He was consumed by guilt. The realization of an impulsive act that had brought him this far, made him what he was, and the trail of anguish and sorrow he had left behind.

  It had happened soon after Harun was said to have vanished from his prison cell, and everything around them erupted in chaos. Amidst the confusion, Zaki d
eparted in pursuit of Harun. Lost in the wilderness, he was taken captive by a Red-Guard patrol on the Sultan’s Pass somewhere close to Aztalaan, and brought before Abidan Babak, the King’s younger brother, who charged him to serve at the Wall.

  “The Red-Guard conceals many secrets,” Zaki spoke in a grim voice. “One of these secrets is a breed of soldiers, taken from the catacombs of Din-Galad, from the City beneath the Mountain. Discarded inbreds, hunchbacks, and lepers. They are trained, their deformities strengthened. Their arms are embedded with claws, and given new purpose. They are known as the Cleavers.”

  Mukhtar raised an eyebrow.

  “When a deserter is caught,” Zaki continued, “his neck is placed on a pedestal, and a cleaver’s arm beheads him. It serves as a grave warning to any who think they can betray the Red-Guard. The last deserter was discovered fleeing north to Suria. They tied his feet to a camel and dragged him across Alhram for forty days, where he was finally put to rest at the Wall.”

  “They dragged him across No Man’s Land only to behead him at the wall?” Mukhtar stared at him disbelievingly.

  “He died in the desert,” Zaki said darkly and Mukhtar’s eyes widened in horror.

  “After mere three days of no food or water,” Zaki went on, “his backside torn to shreds by the rocky desert, his will to live surpassed him. They dragged his corpse to the Wall and cleaved his head only to prove their might. To send a clear message. He who betrays the Red-Guard faces more than death.”

  Mukhtar gulped and felt something icy cold hit the bottom of his stomach. He finally understood what Zaki was trying to tell him. It was not that he did not intend to return. It was that he could not. He suddenly realized the magnitude of the sacrifice his brother had made for him.

  Silently, they continued their search. For at least an hour, Zaki was engrossed in Harun’s journal, something Mukhtar felt a strong compulsion to avoid. He did not want to, could not bring himself to look upon it. He felt that the secrets their father kept from them were no less a betrayal. Instead, he became absorbed in a book titled, Kingdoms of the Underworld.

  — The Jinn are ancient beings, dwelling upon the earth long before the creation of mankind. Religions, nations, tribes, clans, races, and ranks, each one governed by the abilities and powers they wield —

  — The Ifreet are of the most powerful, monstrous and dangerous beings. They are fiery and prodigious, many among the rulers and leaders of their world. They are the Jinn of Fire —

  — The Ma’arid, as mighty and powerful as the Ifreet they may be, have only the desire to exist in solitude, and have no interest in the meddles and politics of man or Jinn, unless driven to. They are the Jinn of Water —

  — The Qa’reen is a Jinn of Spirit, decreed by The Almighty to accompany every human, from the cradle to the grave. They are the beings that whisper and manipulate the human conscience, with the sole purpose of leading it astray —

  — The Ghul are the Jinn of the Earth. Commonly found in places uninhabitable by humans, such as in the vast emptiness of deserts, they are known to be hunters of exceptional skill, luring unwary travelers into their traps —

  — The Sila are the Jinn of Air. They have the ability to soar the gusts, the gales and the winds. Be wary, Sons of Adam, when the wind blows with fiery intent, bethink the power of your Creator and seek His protection —

  — Shayateen. Long have they been known to be the followers of the Dark Prince Azazil, the disobeyer, the betrayer, the scapegoat of evil. They are a spawn of his wickedness. They outnumber their fellow Jinn, thousands to one, and ever have they sought to bring malice upon man —

  — Little else is known of the many other sects of the Jinn. The tribes of Khubuth, Khizab, and Khabaith, are known to lurk in places abhorred by humans. The tribes of Udhrut, Nasnas, and Shiqq, are also among sister tribes, and have long been the most favored to human sorcerers —

  Mukhtar jumped when Zaki gave a sudden gasp.

  “Have you seen this?” he remarked excitedly.

  “I do not care for Abha’s journal, Zaki,” Mukhtar said dismissively.

  “Not that!” Zaki’s remarked. “This!”

  Mukhtar followed his brother’s trembling finger, to a thick, worn, leather-bound book atop their father’s old floor-desk. “What of it?”

  “I cannot say,” Zaki’s voice sounded shaky, and Mukhtar frowned at him. “It just— I cannot really say— it feels—”

  Mukhtar rolled his eyes. “Open it then!”

  Zaki began rocking back and forth in a very eerie manner, his vision slipping in and out of focus. His finger hovered in midair, pointing at the book with a slight quiver.

  “Well?” Mukhtar pressed.

  “It will not allow me,” he replied in a distant voice.

  “What do you mean?” Mukhtar frowned. “Have you lost all sense? It is just a book!”

  Zaki seemed to be battling some intangible, perhaps imaginary force. “I cannot!” he gasped, and for a moment, Mukhtar became terrified, for there was a strange and frightful look on his brother’s face. He moved forward to see the book for himself.

  There was nothing extraordinary about it, at least not to his eyes. The intricate gold imprint was fading off the worn leather, exposing the inner skeleton of its structure. The title, embedded into the leather, was barely legible, and he had trouble making sense of it. In the end, he was able to discern out a single word— Kufr.

  Mukhtar shuddered. He felt a strange sensation as he reached for it. He ran a finger along its spine and around the edge, undid the worn, leather straps and turned over the front cover, but shut it almost immediately, and recoiled away, masking his nose.

  The stench was so putrid, so fetid, permeating through the heat and dust, and into their nostrils. Mukhtar gagged several times, barely able to hold himself.

  “What devilry is this?” Zaki’s remarked, his nostrils pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Lower your voice!” Mukhtar hissed through a handful of his thaub. “Do you wish to bring Ummi upon us?”

  “It allures you with strange sensations, and attacks you with such foul odors!”

  “It is only resin, Zaki!” Mukhtar waved his hand in the air to drive away the smell. “Binding resin always carries an acrid stench.”

  “That is not resin!” Zaki opened the door and allowed the smell to air out.

  There was some truth in Mukhtar’s assumption. Binding resin typically carried such an odor, but considering the age of the book, the smell should have died away a very long time ago. Even then, there was a lingering aftereffect, the stench of rotting eggs, sulfur, and a distinct whiff of —

  A piece of parchment protruding beneath the book, caught his eye. On it was a seal of wax, defined and intact, unimpaired by time or environ. This suggested one thing— the seal formed would have been the last thing done in that room before it was shut to outside world. He pulled it out and stared at it.

  The seal bore twin swords, propped across each other, blades pointing up, hilts below. Fingers slightly trembling, Mukhtar broke the seal, opened and read what it concealed. He then handed the parchment to Zaki whose expression darkened as he read.

  “This can no longer remain secret,” he declared, his voice a bare whisper. “We must take it with us. The book too. Can you make another key?”

  “I am a blacksmith, not locksmith!” Mukhtar pointed out.

  “You are useless, is what you are!” Zaki muttered irritably.

  Mukhtar scowled at him. “Ummi will be most displeased if she comes to find out.”

  “She will not know,” Zaki shook his head. “Go see where she is. Keep her distracted, and I will hide them. Tonight, after she is asleep, we will take them with us.”

  “What of the curfew?” Mukhtar argued. Since the night they hunted Haim Tuma, neither of them had ventured out after dark. It had seemed strange to Mukhtar when he had climbed the roof of the house to scan the city. Never had he seen Khalidah so lifeless.

  �
�Not tonight then,” Zaki agreed. “At dawn. Perhaps Ghasif and Rauf will be able to make sense of the book.”

  Mukhtar’s shoulders stiffened and he folded his arms. They had not indulged the other two since that night either, and he was hesitant to share anything with them.

  “I do not wish for them to see into Abha’s life,” he objected. “This matter should be kept a secret between us.”

  Zaki gave an exasperated sigh. “I despise their involvement just as you but we need answers, and they might have them! Put aside your pride, Mukhtar. We need not show them the journal or the letter, nor do we need to tell them where we found the book.”

  Mukhtar was still hesitant, but he agreed. While he kept Suha distracted, Zaki wrapped the items in a piece of cloth and hid them on the roof.

  After dark, when she had succumbed to exhaustion and retreated to bed, Zaki retrieved the package and kept it safe with him, and at dawn, the brothers set out for the cabin.

  Even after daybreak, much of the city was still confined, as many of its citizens, dreadful of the repercussions of breaking curfew, kept to their homes until it was safe to leave them. The brothers were cautious of the streets, avoiding areas known to be patrolled.

  The package was tucked under Zaki’s arm, its odor disguised with several grains of frankincense. “Pray that the guards have weaker noses, lest they are drawn to us by this infernal stench!”

  FIFTEEN

  MASTERS AND BROTHERS

  Open it!” Ghasif’s eyes gleamed with deepening curiosity.

  “It wreaks!” Zaki complained.

  “You have brought the Immortal City of Khalidah into a state of unrest,” Ghasif scoffed irritably, “and you are unable to face the stench of binding resin? Open it!”

  “I can assure you, that is not resin!” Zaki cast a dark look upon the book before passing it to Mukhtar, who opened it with unnecessary farce and a rather childish hesitation. Despite the horrid and unbearable stink, there was a heightened sense of anticipation, but one that only lasted for a prickling moment.