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The Amulets of Sihr

Page 27

by Abu Bilaal Yakub


  “Make peace with Adil,” Saif suggested. “We can convince him to speak with his father.”

  “Adil will never listen!” Mukhtar scoffed. “Besides, what makes you think General Babak will believe us? You said so yourself, it sounds like a tale of fantasy.”

  “But we must try!” Saif argued. “There must be a way we can convince him.”

  “Adil scorned me!” Mukhtar protested. “Betrayed me! How can I trust him?”

  “Mukhtar, when will you abandon this resentment?” Saif pleaded. “Do you not see? You are succumbing to the very whispers of the devil!”

  “Is he not doing the same?”

  “I know you, Mukhtar,” Saif said. “I know you both. He despises this enmity!”

  “Then he should seek reconciliation!” Mukhtar asserted. “As well as forgiveness for his foolishness!”

  “Seeking forgiveness does not belittle anyone,” Saif stated.

  “Good!” Mukhtar commented. “We would not want His Royal Highness, Adil Babak, to belittle himself!”

  Saif threw his hands up in frustration.

  Mukhtar could not blame him for trying, but he did not know everything. He did not know about Ghulam, nor did he know that Adil sat in the company of Thamir and Laban Varda. “The enemy has infiltrated Immorkaan, Saif. We cannot trust anyone!”

  “We can trust Sheikh Ruwaid.”

  “Perhaps. But you must speak to no one about this!” Mukhtar said firmly. “Do not despair. We will find a way. I must return home and rest my eyes. We will speak again, soon.”

  They parted along the way, and Mukhtar returned home with a throbbing head. When he entered, it was to find Zaki tending to his horse, Bisrah, in the courtyard. The black steed had occupied most of the courtyard and now called it home. Unwilling to take the risk of someone identifying his horse, Zaki had chosen to keep him at home. However, Mukhtar secretly suspected it was because Zaki was unable to afford the stables’ charges, and was too lazy to work for it. He had already declared it several times, that a Red-Guard was not a laborer, even though Mukhtar constantly reminded him that he was no longer a Red-Guard.

  Bisrah gave a loud snort and dipped his mouth into the pot of water Zaki had kept before him.

  “How much longer will you keep him here?” Mukhtar asked aloud, and Zaki looked up sharply. “Ummi will have him removed eventually.”

  “Mukhtar!” Zaki hissed with a glance over his shoulder, making sure their mother was not about. “Where have you been?”

  “With Saif,” Mukhtar shrugged. “We went to the Masjid for prayers, and you will not believe—”

  “Ummi is asleep!” Zaki interrupted with urgency in his voice. “I must speak with you. Come!”

  Puzzled, Mukhtar followed his brother up the stairs to his own room, and shut the door behind them.

  “What is the matter?” he opened the window to welcome the late afternoon breeze. Across the alley was the open window of Misbah’s room. No shrieks or screams came through. Perhaps no one was home.

  “Where have you been?” Zaki’s voice was stern.

  “I told you!” Mukhtar scanned the deserted alley below, and then up at the clear sky. “With Saif. We went to the Masjid for prayers. What is the matter, Zaki?”

  “Ghulam is the matter!”

  Mukhtar turned sharply, shoulders tensed. “What do you mean?”

  “We have not spoken since we left the mansion,” Zaki stated. “What did Ghulam reveal? What did you find?”

  Mukhtar sighed deeply. “A parchment with the names of mercenaries and slave traders. I used it to bargain safe passage from the mansion. Ghulam seemed to believe he was doing good. He urged me to search for the Keystone.”

  “What else?” Zaki pressed. “Did he reveal their locations? Did he reveal any names?”

  Mukhtar shook his head. “He died.”

  Zaki eyed him and asked, “What of the other two?”

  “You mean Ghasif and Rauf?” Mukhtar almost laughed. “They returned to the cabin, I believe.”

  “To converse about us,” Zaki commented.

  “Undoubtedly,” Mukhtar agreed. “I question their motives.”

  “I question their leader,” Zaki said.

  “As do I,” Mukhtar said. “Ma’alim continues to elude us. Perhaps he will reveal himself, now that Ghulam is dead. Ghasif will undoubtedly inform him.”

  Zaki nodded. “Keep them on a short leash,” he said. “We may yet have use of them.”

  Mukhtar glanced at Zaki and said, “You have never spoken of your missions regarding the Assassins.”

  “Are you asking, or saying?”

  “I am asking, you fool!” Mukhtar threw his pillow at him.

  Zaki dodged the pillow and sat on the only stool Mukhtar had in his room. He took a deep breath, gazing at the wall before him, collecting his thoughts. “You remember Rafi Kataan?”

  “The ink-maker from Aghara?” Mukhtar gazed at him curiously. “Abha’s friend?”

  “The very same,” Zaki nodded. “He came to Aztalaan to marry his son to General Abidan’s eldest daughter.”

  “Did you merit an invitation?”

  “I would have perhaps,” Zaki grinned. “But the wedding did not arrive. Two days after they agreed on the date, Rafi and his son woke to a pair of daggers embedded into their bedposts. The Assassins’ way of warning them against going any further with the marriage.”

  Mukhtar raised his eyebrows.

  “They were startled at first,” Zaki went on, “accusing Abidan of some treachery. Abidan managed to convince them that he was not behind it, that there were others who sought to uproot his governance of Aztalaan and the Wall. He urged them to have faith and courage, that his enemies were only envious of his power, and that he would do whatever it took to bring them to justice.”

  “Sounds like he knew what he was doing,” Mukhtar commented. “Were the culprits caught?”

  “Barely a fortnight after,” Zaki continued, “while he was announcing his son’s betrothal to the masses, Rafi Kataan was assassinated in broad daylight.”

  Mukhtar gave a small gasp.

  Zaki nodded grimly. “He had a silver throwing-knife in his throat,” he said, “his son had an arrow in his chest, and all five of his personal guard were slain before a crowd of several hundred people in Aztalaan’s largest market square. Witnesses reported a white-robed, turbaned and veiled assailant, who miraculously escaped by blending in with a procession of monks from a nearby monastery. Abidan was furious. He called together those he could trust, named me Captain, and gave us the mission to track down those responsible.”

  “Did you ever find them?” Mukhtar asked.

  Zaki shook his head. “Elusive creatures!”

  “So, in a fight between you and Ghasif, who would emerge the victor?” Mukhtar mocked.

  Zaki threw him a scathing look, but did not respond to his question. “The Assassins do not honor the rules of engagement. They work in the shadows. Their existence has been described to the likeness of the Jinn. Ussam’s tactics are infamous but effective. He has used a combination of stealth and agility with intoxicating herbs and sorcery to strengthen himself and his army. There is a reason why he has evaded siege for two decades. When Azhar was crowned King, he used Ussam to eradicate the few who opposed him.”

  “And when he was no longer needed…”

  “Azhar declared him an enemy of the Empire,” Zaki concluded. “I am surprised to see Immorkaan has not yet realized Ussam’s ploy.”

  “What do you mean?” Mukhtar asked. “Perhaps they already have. Or perhaps they too have fallen prey to his deceit.”

  “Perhaps,” Zaki nodded again. “Does it not strike you as odd, though? That despite all what has happened, Immorkaan’s only response has been to ban any nightly activity?”

  “The taverns and brothels continue to remain open,” Mukhtar stated.

  “To serve disloyal and unjust guards, yes,” Zaki nodded impatiently. “It has been several days since the de
aths of Ghadan and Haim. Immorkaan should have learned their true natures by now. They should have known that these men were serving Ghulam, and traced his allegiances to Ussam.”

  “In short, they should have known the Assassins are plotting to uproot the King’s rule,” Mukhtar added.

  “Yes!” Zaki threw his arm forward, as though commending Mukhtar for finally being able to follow his thought.

  “This does not make sense,” Mukhtar stared at the wall. “Ma’alim approved our mission to kill Ghulam. The butcher and the guard seemed to think he had outlived his usefulness. Nabiha wanted him dead for her own personal gain. Judging by his final words, he believed to be serving a righteous cause.”

  “Do you think he served more than one master?” Zaki asked.

  Mukhtar shrugged. “The speaker at the Souk accused Aarguf Babak of employing Ghulam. Do you think Adil’s father might be plotting to overthrow the King? Mika’il said that much remained to be disputed between the brothers. Azhar did strip Aarguf of his power as Sultan, reducing him to a mere General. He would have more than enough motive to plot against him.”

  “I doubt that,” Zaki said dismissively. “General Abidan has never spoken out against either of his brothers, nor has he ever declared any personal dispute.”

  “Perhaps he does not even know,” Mukhtar suggested. “Everything has remained very obscure thus far. Aarguf could have been using Ghulam’s influence and authority to strengthen his cause secretly until he is ready to mass an attack.”

  Zaki shook his head in discord. “Ghulam was bound to serve the General of the Royal Army by law. No... there must be another master. Another ploy or plot. Another obscurity we have yet to uncover. We must tread carefully, brother. Too much has happened and a lot more is still happening. It would be ultimately disastrous if we are caught flat-footed.”

  Mukhtar nodded grimly. It seemed very strange to him. Ghulam could not have lied, unless he was intentionally misleading them with his dying breath. And yet, the existence of the Keystone seemed undeniable. Haim’s description, and the seal they found in Harun’s study, were inseparable.

  “Where is the letter?” he asked.

  “Abha’s letter? I have it here,” Zaki removed the parchment. “It is strange that the man it is addressed to, is the same man you presumed to have died an infant.”

  “Strange indeed,” Mukhtar painfully came to terms with what seemed to be an inevitable truth, but he made sure to keep his emotions concealed from his brother. “Unless Abha spread a rumor to conceal his existence from Ummi.”

  “It is even stranger that we have an uncle we did not know of,” Zaki stated. “If he still lives. Abha speaks very highly of him in his journal.”

  “If he is still alive, then he is the only other person who knows about the Amulets, the Keystone, and the Book,” Mukhtar said.

  “And the journal,” Zaki added. “You must read it, Mukhtar. There is so much of his life contained within those pages.”

  Mukhtar shook his head. “I do not wish to unearth my emotions at such a time. I have lived without knowledge of it and what it contains for all these years. Abha obviously wanted it to be a secret from all of us. I would rather it remain that way.”

  Zaki sighed heavily. “Very well,” he said. “Be it your choice. Here,” he showed Mukhtar their father’s letter to Siyaad, “look at this.”

  “The mark of the Keystone,” Mukhtar glanced at the symbol etched into the lower right corner of the parchment, beside his father’s name; two swords, crisscrossing each other.

  “We will need to journey to Uduff as soon as we are able,” Zaki sounded distant and slightly nervous. He was pacing back forth, rather frantically.

  “Has something happened that I am unaware of?” Mukhtar followed his pacing with narrowed eyes.

  Frustrated, Zaki threw his hands in the air. “Nothing has happened! Unlike his dead accomplices, Ghulam’s death has not even been announced. I have spent the day lingering about the Souk As-Silaah. No heightened security, not even a curious whisper.”

  “Did you anticipate one?”

  “Naturally!” Zaki exerted. “Did you not?”

  Mukhtar shook his head and stared at the cracks in the ceiling, focusing on a particular crevice on the whitewashed plaster. A spider’s legs peered through, taking a feel for the world outside its home, and then disappeared within.

  “Your confidence amazes me,” Zaki stopped and stared at him.

  “Your lack of faith in it, is questionable,” Mukhtar responded.

  “How did you really escape the aide?” Zaki asked simply. “You evaded me last night, you vanished all morning, and you haven’t spoken a word of it since!”

  “So why say it now?” Mukhtar replied without looking at him.

  “Because the longer you keep it secret, the more suspicious it becomes,” Zaki raised a dubious eyebrow.

  Mukhtar gave him a sideways glance. “Have you lost your memory? I already told you what happened. She needed the parchment, and I used it to bargain our escape.”

  “As simple as that?”

  Mukhtar frowned. “What sort of strange deception were you expecting from her? She underestimated us, and paid the price. She will think twice before she ever does so again.”

  “Do not mock me, Mukhtar!” Zaki warned.

  “I am not,” Mukhtar replied impassively.

  “What are you hiding from me?” Zaki’s tone became threatening, and Mukhtar became wary.

  “Her sister was enslaved by Ghulam’s mercenaries,” he decided to divulge a portion of the truth. “She was desperate, and I used it against her.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Zaki sounded sarcastic. “And you left her alive?”

  “I had every temptation to slit her throat,” Mukhtar replied.

  “So why didn’t you?” Zaki sneered.

  “I admire your confidence, brother!” Mukhtar said harshly. “Did you perhaps believe that we would leave the mansion by some other means? You are only upset because I barred you from taking your revenge on the fat man! And need I declare it to my own brother that I am not a cold-hearted assassin!”

  “They are witnesses!” Zaki’s nostrils flared. “What would it take for them to betray us?”

  “They haven’t!”

  “Not yet!”

  Mukhtar sat upright and glared at him. “You made the mistake, Zaki!” he remarked. “You should never have involved her. There were other ways of entering the mansion. I saw an opportunity to rectify your error, and I took it. We are free. Her mouth is shut. Leave it be!”

  Zaki looked as if he wanted to throw something heavy at Mukhtar. It took a while before he calmed himself. Finally, he gave a deep sigh, “I was rash,” he sounded apologetic. “It was a foolish mistake. She knew from the beginning. We were baited into her ploy, and I should have foreseen it!”

  “Leave it be, brother,” Mukhtar reassured him. “She is a devious woman!”

  Zaki paused, eyeing his brother ambiguously. Mukhtar waited patiently, bracing himself for another lengthy and cumbersome argument, for which he truly did not have any energy remaining. He had not slept at all the previous night, and the short hours he had gained from shutting his eyes on Saif’s mattress, had not awarded him any rest.

  Zaki seemed to sense his brother’s exhaustion, for he decided not to further the matter. “We will need to speak with Ghasif and Rauf again,” he said instead.

  “Concerning what?” Mukhtar raised his head slightly.

  “The other targets. Yusri Abdi, Nizaam ibn Jalal, Rasha Bint Sumrah, and lest we forget, Thamir Ar-Rushdi.”

  “Can we not just sleep tonight?” Mukhtar sighed wearily.

  “The longer we wait, the stronger they become!” Zaki urged him. “You said so yourself!”

  “I must rest, Zaki!” Mukhtar pleaded and shut his eyes.

  Zaki gave him an impatient look. “You have until nightfall,” he stated blatantly. “At midnight—”

  He did not finish,
and Mukhtar opened his eyes to a look of pure horror on his brother’s face. “What is it?” he asked.

  Zaki did not reply. He was staring out the open window with his mouth slightly ajar. Mukhtar turned his head and sat up, startled.

  Gizwani was staring back at them through the open window of Misbah’s room, with a steaming cup of a hot beverage in his hands.

  The cup fell through his fingers, and he vanished.

  PART THREE

  THE QUARTERMASTER

  TEN YEARS AGO.

  His senses were tingling, troubling him such that he could not focus. His hands trembled uncontrollably. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and chest, dampening his brown thaub to a darker shade. What have I done?

  Harun could not believe himself. He couldn’t believe his own foolishness. He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his thaub and glanced around, suddenly very afraid.

  The blackness of his study engulfed him, but for the tiny flame of a burning candle atop his floor-desk. On the desk lay a lengthy piece of parchment, a letter he had received only recently. It was slightly tattered and stained, mostly by the smudges of his own sweaty fingers. Part of it read—

  …consider these events with utmost care, and pair them to those that have taken place since the Veil was last pierced. I assure you, all five seals will reveal themselves.

  Now, with regards to the knowledge of the Jinn, this is not something that we humans can so easily comprehend.

  The manner in which time and space, fold and manipulate in their world, is nothing like our physical plane. Believe me, brother, very few have ever been able to transcend their realm— it is no small feat for mankind.

  However, if you were to study the points where our worlds collide, you will be able to follow a certain pattern, and this will provide you with the evidence of what has destroyed every major civilization in the ancient world, because…

  The rest of the parchment was obscured by an open book, its pages emitting a pungent scent of rotting eggs. The stench hardly bothered him, for it was an odor he had grown accustomed to whenever he would summon a Jinn or delve into the book’s ancient and unprecedented text. He had only just been studying the vile and filthy chapters (both literally and figuratively), and he discovered something he had unknowingly overlooked in the past. A sudden realization of the mistakes he had made nine years ago, crashed down upon him in a rocky avalanche. How could he have been so foolish?

 

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