The Amulets of Sihr

by Abu Bilaal Yakub

  “Muneeb,” Sheikh Ruwaid spoke calmly and politely, “go inside and stay with your Ummi. Do not come back here, understood?”

  Muneeb nodded and left.

  “He is my grandson,” Sheikh Ruwaid explained. “His father is on a trade venture to Hanan-Sula, and so he and his mother, my youngest daughter, are living with me for a few days. I would rather he not be here to witness this.”

  “Witness what?” Mukhtar asked sharply.

  “Do not be fearful, son,” Sheikh Ruwaid assured him. “Fear is the devil’s advocate, and the very weakness that the Jinn love to manipulate. By your consent, I will subject you to a series of trials, to better understand the true nature of this being.”

  Mukhtar gave Saif a sideways glance, who returned a reassuring nod.

  “Now, sit still before me,” Sheikh Ruwaid filled a cup with water and placed it between them. “Remember, the Jinn will fear you only if you remain unafraid. Allow me to supplicate upon you, and have faith in your Creator that this obstacle in your life will be removed.”

  He began reciting rapidly, loud enough for them to hear. Mukhtar sat cross-legged, silently wondering whether Sheikh Ruwaid would pray for him until the Jinn became frustrated and fled. He turned Mika’il’s ring on his finger, nervously rubbing the obsidian stone with a sweaty finger. For some reason, he was becoming uneasy, even though nothing in that room warranted any unrest. He thought he felt the Amulet, hanging from the chain around his neck, give a subtle throb against his chest, and he shuddered.

  Concealed under his sleeve, he began to fidget with the mechanism on his wrist, toying with it, allowing the dagger to escape, stalling it just before it did. It felt as if it were a part of him now, and wondered if at all he would ever relinquish it. He frowned at his own strangeness.

  Gradually, Sheikh Ruwaid’s recitation began to irritate him like the annoying buzz of an irksome fly. In an attempt to keep his mind occupied, he looked around the Imam’s humble abode. Potted plants brightened all four corners with their rich green foliage, and the rest of the room was lined with simple cushions of a brown shade, breaking the white of the plastered walls. He sat there, for what felt like hours, until he began feeling very drowsy. All he longed to do was to lie down and shut his eyes.

  “Focus on me now,” Sheikh Ruwaid spoke between his recitations, in a voice that seemed to come from far away. “Keep your eyes on me.”

  “So… exhausted…” Mukhtar sighed, unaware of his own speech, “… so… tired….”

  “I need you to remain alert for me,” Sheikh Ruwaid urged him.

  Mukhtar yawned loudly. “I cannot!” he gasped. “I feel so tired!”

  “Mukhtar!”

  Mukhtar slowly shut his eyes, and Sheikh Ruwaid splashed water on his face, snapping him awake. He opened his eyes only to shut them again. Saif held him upright, and was speaking in his ear, but he could not understand anything. His head felt heavy, and at the same time felt light, like he was intoxicated. He giggled, somehow remembering that he did not even know what intoxication felt like. The room began to spin and sway, and he smiled to himself as though he was thoroughly enjoying this, but at the same time, he was not.

  “Who am I speaking to?” Sheikh Ruwaid asked after he finished reciting.

  Mukhtar made several blubbering and spluttering sounds, mingled with a handful of rude words.

  “What is your name?” Sheikh Ruwaid asked again.

  Mukhtar started rocking back and forth, singing an irregular, tuneless hymn under his breath. “My name is irrelevant,” he then said. “What is your name?”

  “Who are you?” Sheikh Ruwaid asked. “Where have you come from?”

  “And why should I tell you?” Mukhtar smirked.

  “There is no greater power than His. He is the One, who has created man from a clot of blood, and the Jinn from smokeless fire!” Sheikh Ruwaid recited. “By the command of the Almighty God, tell me your name!”

  “Who has created man from a clot of blood and Jinn from smokeless fire,” Mukhtar mocked, cackling loudly and shamelessly. “Your piety can only take you so far!”

  “I will use every weapon in my arsenal to send you back beyond the veil!” He splashed more water on Mukhtar’s face, who cackled even louder.

  “You have no power!” Mukhtar hissed, grinning menacingly. “You are but a simple human!”

  “Not a Ghul or a Sila,” Sheikh Ruwaid’s eyes narrowed.

  “Try again, old man!” Mukhtar scoffed brazenly.

  “Bring that clay pot, and light some Oudh,” Sheikh Ruwaid instructed Saif. “There is some sandalwood and incense in the tin beside it. Throw that into the fire as well.”

  Saif hastened, crossing the room to where Sheikh Ruwaid pointed, while Mukhtar continued to hum the same strange irregular tune, pausing at random intervals to clap his hands and pout his lips.

  “What is happening to him?” Saif sounded frightful.

  “We are no longer dealing with Mukhtar,” Sheikh Ruwaid said in a stern voice. “Hurry with the Oudh!”

  Mukhtar cackled. “Burn your incenses then! Do your worst!”

  It took a few moments to light the coal, and when it was blazing, he fed it with a generous helping of Oudh, filling the room with its scented smoke.

  “You are of a smokeless flame,” Sheikh Ruwaid said, as calmly as though giving a lecture on the subject. “An entity of poison!” He brought the clay pot forward. “Breathe into fragrances of purity!”

  Mukhtar was engulfed by the scented white smoke. “No!” he moaned in pain, shielding his eyes and waving his arms about in a frenzy. “Remove this thing!” he shrieked.

  “A Ma’arid…” Sheikh Ruwaid smiled, “…interesting…” and Mukhtar was almost overcome with an urge to hit him, to wipe the smirk off his face, but the heat and fumes of the Oudh were so intensifying, he could not muster the effort.

  “You are cruel!” Mukhtar screamed at him.

  “You have not yet known my cruelty,” Sheikh Ruwaid was no longer smiling. “Speak now!”

  “I yield!” Mukhtar screamed, holding his hands up in defeat. “I yield!”

  Sheikh Ruwaid drew back the pot, and placed it on the floor beside him. Mukhtar eyed it, biting his lip so fiercely it began to bleed.

  “What is your name?” Sheikh Ruwaid asked again.

  Mukhtar’s eyes darted back and forth, suspiciously shifting between Sheikh Ruwaid and the blazing coals. “Speak the truth, and I will stay the Oudh. Lie and suffer its wrath!”

  “Talia!” Mukhtar mumbled. “My name is Talia!”

  “And what are you?” Sheikh Ruwaid asked.

  “Nothing of significance! A lowly Ghul from the barren Plains of Zarzara!”

  “A liar is what you are!” Sheikh Ruwaid exclaimed, bringing the clay pot closer to Mukhtar, who began to whimper. “Speak! Or suffer!”

  “Adva!” Mukhtar screamed. “My name is Adva!”

  “Telling the truth now?”

  “I swear!”

  “Swear by your Creator!”

  “I have no creator!”

  “No creator? Name your father and your mother!”

  “I have no memory of those who bore me as a child!”

  Sheikh Ruwaid’s nostrils flared. “Still telling lies, I see!”

  The pain came again.

  “Perhaps some more persuasion?”

  And again. Agonizing and burning into her bones.

  “It is the truth!” Adva screamed. “I swear it!”

  Sheikh Ruwaid frowned. Adva twisted and turned in boundless torment. “Why have you taken over this person?”

  “Not— possessed!” Adva spoke in a strained and horrendous voice. “Not— yet!”

  “And you intend to?”

  Despite her shortened breath and pained expression, Adva grinned maliciously. “In time...”

  “Why?”

  “To serve a higher purpose. To free my kin!”

  “You believe that this man has imprisoned your family?”
<
br />   “Do you mock me, holy man?” Adva growled.

  Sheikh Ruwaid’s lips curled. “No, I do not mock. I only find it difficult to believe that a Jinn has been imprisoned by a human.”

  Adva laughed eerily. “You are so blind! So foolish! I know that which you do not. I know what you keep secret, holy man.”

  “Are you insulting me?” Sheikh Ruwaid pushed the sizzling Oudh closer.

  “You are hurting me…” Adva sobbed pathetically, and then began humming, swinging Mukhtar’s head in a strange fashion. Then she began to growl and glare at Sheikh Ruwaid, with deep loathing. “You are a vile creature!” She spat on his face.

  Sheikh Ruwaid continued to smile calmly, and after wiping his face with his sleeve, he picked up the clay pot with burning Oudh, and brandished it before her. The scream was terrible, torturous, and agonizing with a culminating decibel. Sheikh Ruwaid and Saif, however, remained unscathed.

  “You are blinded by your scriptures!” Adva screeched. “Your faiths and your beliefs! You know nothing but ignorance! The prophecy is as clear as morning dew. It is inevitable. The Jinn will rise to a power unlike any other witnessed on this earth. We will claim back the lands that were once ours before your creation. We will claim back our birthright!”

  “That is an interesting speech, but it still does not explain why you are troubling this person. Why are you here? Where have you come from? Who sent you?”

  “The boy is stubborn and uninviting, but his time draws close, and soon I will have him begging on his knees. He will succumb to his inner emotions, his weakness of empathy. He will succumb, and I will conquer.”

  “Name the sorcerer who commands you!”

  “The prophecy does not lie,” Adva ignored him. “He will rise— his time comes soon— I have seen him, the Hand of Azazil, the Unforgiven— arisen with scars— shall be made whole again— he will gather his armies, he will claim the Throne of Ithm— be warned, sons of Adam, your time draws to an end— he will wage his war!”

  Adva laughed, but her laughter was irregularly coming and going. Her voice grew softer, and she uttered from an unknown language, and by the time it turned into a bare whisper, she had shut her eyes and fallen asleep. Sheikh Ruwaid splashed more water, and she grunted.

  “Adva!” he called. “Adva!”

  She grunted again. “Who is this Adva? And why is my face wet?”

  Mukhtar was now awake. He wiped his face on his sleeve and tasted blood.

  “Why is my face wet?” he asked again. “Why is my lip bleeding?”

  “Did she flee?” Saif glanced about the room and then leaned forward, eyeing Mukhtar quizzically.

  “Did who flee?” Mukhtar leaned away from him with a curious look.

  “The Jinn— Adva— she spoke through you!”

  Mukhtar touched his bleeding lip and flinched.

  “Do you not remember?” Saif gestured wildly.

  “He will have no memory of it,” Sheikh Ruwaid told him. “In order to speak to it, I forced the Jinn into an indefinite state of possession. Mukhtar was, in all sense, unconscious to the events, as is always the case when a Jinn possesses a human.”

  Mukhtar dried himself, while Saif and Sheikh Ruwaid explained what had happened. “Divine words will always incite fear in the wicked, and in such a state of dismay, the Jinn divulged some, if not all. Do not be afraid, Mukhtar,” Sheikh Ruwaid eyed him closely.

  “I am not,” Mukhtar replied hastily.

  “But you are,” Sheikh Ruwaid imposed. “It is only natural. Being plagued by the Unseen is not a burden so easily endured.”

  “Has it been dispelled?” Saif asked.

  Sheikh Ruwaid shook his head. “It appears to be far more convoluted than what I have encountered in my experiences. Alas, the Jinn are malicious, mischievous, and deceitful. They have roamed this earth before us, and were driven into the Unseen Veil because their corruption knew no bounds.”

  He plucked a few grapes from the bunch in the plate before them and urged Mukhtar and Saif to join him. Saif declined respectfully but Mukhtar helped himself to several cupfuls of the refreshing Sherbet, feeling incredibly dehydrated.

  “It is an endless battle to dispel a Jinn,” Sheikh Ruwaid went on, “and the stronger its hold, the more difficult the fight. However, as far I can tell, it is trying to possess you, but something is holding it back. An ethereal barrier, or some complex form of sorcery or incantation. It is difficult to say. Such things are, as sorcery is known to be, occult and unseen.”

  “Curse the sorcerer who has brought this misfortune upon Mukhtar,” Saif remarked.

  “Oh, pray that is not the case,” Sheikh Ruwaid’s tone became grim.

  “Why is that?” Mukhtar frowned.

  “The stronger the Jinn, the more dominant and vile the sorcerer,” Sheikh Ruwaid said. “Sorcery is a sin so evil, the Almighty has declared hellfire upon its practitioners. Be wary of those who blow into knots and swear allegiance to the darkness, for theirs is sin and in it they shall abide.”

  Mukhtar struggled to suppress a shudder. Who could be so vile as to have done such wickedness upon him? Or was it otherwise? No vile sorcerer, no terrible curse... just fate?

  “What of this prophecy?” Saif asked Sheikh Ruwaid.

  “The world is riddled with falsified prophecies and presages,” Sheikh Ruwaid replied with a nonchalant tone. “Soothsayers and fortunetellers always employ the powers of Jinn to make predictions of what may come to pass, and the Jinn have been known to fabricate their own tales to satisfy ignorant minds. However, the Jinn have a world of their own. They hold their own beliefs and convictions, which may be true to them, but in the world of man, prophecies are how the Jinn are known to spread lies and deceit.”

  Saif blinked. “But if such a claim is made with regard to our own lives, should we still be taking it lightly?”

  “Lightly?” Sheikh Ruwaid gazed at him thoughtfully. “No. With grave caution. Years back, during the Great War, thousands of sorcerers were captured in Uduff, Din-Galad, and Ninya. They were subjected to torture, interrogated and forced to divulge what they knew about the Dark Prince. None had ever seen or spoken to the Dark Prince, but they all admitted to submitting to a Jinn of his picking. I know this, because I was one of the few who had been tasked by King Azhar Babak to lead the interrogations. I spoke to countless Jinn, who— after their contracts with the sorcerers had been nullified— chose to possess them. I would be lying if I said that none of the Jinn spoke any different than what we heard today. There may be some truth in this prophecy, or no truth whatsoever. No man has ever found this Throne of Ithm, nor the Hand of Azazil.”

  Saif’s eyes were wide with awe and filled with interest. “These sound like tales of myth and fantasy. There is no such recollection in any script I have read, and I have read more than many.”

  “As have I, young Saif,” Sheikh Ruwaid acknowledged. “But not all script is from the world of man. There is knowledge in the world of Jinn also, and there are many who would relentlessly pursue that knowledge, no matter the detriment. I, however, hold the belief that if such knowledge was meant for us, it would not be hidden. There is a reason why our worlds are disunited by a veil. The Realm of the Unseen is not meant for mankind, as is decreed by He who created both.”

  Mukhtar was not listening to them. His thoughts had strayed to the formidable blackened walls, the tall towering citadels, parapets swarming with archers, and the eerie orange glows in and around the gigantic fortress. He shut his eyes and re-imagined the hooded men who hunted him, and the symbol branded on their leader’s arm.

  There truly were others who sought what was beyond the Veil. Like the hooded men in Arammoria. Like Ussam Bashiri. Like Yusri Abdi. Like his own father and grandfather. The Amulet, the Book, the Keystone, and everything else they had discovered in the cabin and the study were evidence of it. Sheikh Ruwaid did not know this, but Adva had a greater purpose than a mere magician’s whim. He was not certain of her motives, but he was convinced t
hat she was not sent by any vile sorcerer. She was there by choice. She was there because of what his father had done, and what his grandfather had done before him.

  “What else did the Jinn say?” he pressed, desperate for more information.

  TWENTY

  THE EAVESDROPPER

  Demons and Jinn. Amulets and Keystones. Strange books and letters to a man presumed to be dead. Mukhtar was still unable to wrap his mind around what they had found in Harun’s study, and what he had just learned from Sheikh Ruwaid filled his head to a point where he wanted to scream.

  After they left the Imam’s home, Saif pressed Mukhtar for every detail, and despite his hesitation, the matter was discussed at great length. Having reconciled with Saif, Mukhtar eventually decided to divulge at least part of the truth, but even then, he could not hold back the guilt and reluctance. It was not that Saif could not be trusted, but Mukhtar was slowly beginning to realize how bloody and destructive the path ahead lay. He had already lost one friend to a bitter discord, and another to a terrible fate.

  “A tale of fantasy,” Saif shook his head disbelievingly. “I would have called you mad, had I not heard the Jinn speak.”

  Mukhtar gave him an appreciative smile. Saif had done what Adil had failed to do.

  “This… prophecy…” Saif said thoughtfully, “is deeply concerning.”

  “It is indeed,” Mukhtar said. “Ghasif found a book which spoke of a Throne of Ithm. He who claims it, is named the Hand of Azazil.”

  “That is what the Jinn said!” Saif gasped. “Has it been claimed?”

  Mukhtar gave him a dark look. “The fortress of Arammoria is not in ruin, nor as abandoned as we have been led to believe. Something festers there, something powerful and evil.”

  The sun was slowly approaching the western horizon, and the mud structures of Khalidah cast long shadows on the city streets, while the populous wound their day ahead of the scheduled curfew.

  “This bodes ill, Mukhtar,” Saif sounded panicky. “We must tell someone!”

  “Who?” Mukhtar nearly laughed. “From guards to viziers, our leaders are either too corrupt or too arrogant to listen.”