The Amulets of Sihr

by Abu Bilaal Yakub

  Panicking would avail nothing. He calmed himself. The damage could still be contained if he played his part well. But it could not be done alone. Who could truly be relied upon, to help him undo all the wrong that had been done? The Sheikh had only spun riddling phrases of good and evil, of sin and deed, of fate and destiny. His words may have been wise and profound, but they hardly abetted a concrete solution to his current obstacles. In his most recent correspondence, Siyaad stated that one of the three had certainly betrayed him. He was, however, very vague as to who he thought this deceiver may be, leaving Harun to make wild assumptions. Was it Ussam?

  The man always had a certain demonic aura about him, cold and eerie. He lacked ambition, however, and seemed satisfied within the confines of his fortress. Who then, if not him? Laban?

  Perhaps. As far back as Harun could recall, Laban was the man who introduced them to the world of the Unseen. Then again, if Laban really was ambitious, why did he not step up as King? Why allow Azhar to take power?

  Which then left Azhar. Azhar had become the presumed leader of their secret Order. An Order that was supposed to have liberated the people, brought them freedom. But their lives were no different from the enslavement of The Dark Prince. Freedom was just an illusion. The laws and legislations, drafted and enforced by Azhar’s Immorkaan, had done very little to empower the people, if at all. The only persons who seemed to have tasted any empowerment by his governance were his politicians and viziers, and the wealthy merchants who donated generously to keep such corrupt leaders in their pockets. How could Azhar have allowed this to happen? Corruption had spread over the lands like an incurable disease, and the system intended for good had become a living, breathing beast, unchecked, uncontrollable, and unbeatable.

  Harun gave a deep sigh. Just then, the door swung open, and in the light of the hallway stood a young boy of eight, looking sullen and disgruntled.

  “Abha!” he called gloomily. “Zaki refused to play with me, and also, he took my toys and refused to give them back!”

  Harun hastily wiped the sweat off his brow, and attempted to put on a calm and relaxed look on his face. “Mukhtar,” he tried not to sound harsh, “how many times have I told you not to interrupt me here?”

  “Many times,” Mukhtar mumbled, swinging his arms, staring at his feet, “but Zaki—”

  “Where is your mother?”

  “In the courtyard,” Mukhtar replied.

  “Why don’t you go and tell her what Zaki did?” Harun stated. “Abha has work to do.”

  “But Ummi said to tell you!” Mukhtar argued.

  Harun sighed again. “Did you speak with your brother?”

  Mukhtar nodded.

  “Did you ask him politely?”

  Mukhtar nodded again.

  “Why then does he refuse to play with you?”

  “And refuses to return my toys!” Mukhtar added angrily.

  Harun broke into a warm smile. “And refuses to return your toys,” he echoed.

  “Because he is a bully! And a thief!”

  “Is that so?” Harun’s smile grew broader. “And who was it that stole Zaki’s marbles only a few days ago?”

  Mukhtar answered too quickly, “I meant to return them!”

  “But you promised not to take them,” Harun said calmly, “and yet you still did— without permission.”

  “It was not—!”

  “Mukhtar,” Harun asserted. “Remember what I told you? In everything we do, what must we show?”

  Mukhtar murmured something.

  “What was that?” Harun cupped his ear with his hand.

  “Honesty,” Mukhtar said.

  “And—?”

  “Sincerity.”

  “Honesty and sincerity, Mukhtar,” Harun said. “These two things—”

  “—will never lead you astray, I know!” Mukhtar completed the sentence. He gazed at his father earnestly. Then…

  “But he chased me away! He never wants to play with me! Even yesterday in the Madrassa, he told me to go away. He is mean!”

  Harun’s chuckle eventually escaped him. His son could hardly be concerned about philosophies at the moment. He knelt down before him and held him gently by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Mukhtar,” he said suggestively. “Go to your Ummi and ask her if she needs any help. And when — listen to me – when I have finished my work, we will sit to eat, and speak openly. Agreed?”

  “Yes— but—!”

  “No more arguments, Mukhtar!” Harun increased the decibel in his voice by a tiny fraction. “Now go!”

  As stubborn as his father, Mukhtar refused to move from the spot. His father’s assurance, without any action, was not enough. Harun would have to make an added effort to assuage his son.

  “Mika’il told me you carved something on a brick while he was repairing the furnace,” he stated.

  Mukhtar nodded.

  “Where did you see that symbol?”

  Mukhtar pointed at the floor desk, and Harun understood.

  “When?” he asked.

  “When you were gone to the palace,” Mukhtar replied.

  Harun thought back. It had been several days since he met Azhar Babak at the palace. “You entered my study without permission?”

  Mukhtar fidgeted with his fingers and avoided his father’s gaze. “I came to find you.”

  “And when you did not?”

  “I sat at your desk, and pretended to work, like you,” he admitted.

  Harun’s eyes narrowed. “That would explain why my ink-pot was left open to dry up.”

  “Forgive me, Abha,” Mukhtar’s expression was of guilt and contrite. “I did not mean to disobey.”

  Harun nodded softly, and gazed at his desk for a while before saying, “Interesting. Coincidental, perhaps,” he gave a small shrug, “but… very interesting… Go now, Mukhtar. I must return to my work.”

  Mukhtar shuffled out of the door, looking no happier than when he had entered. Harun closed the door gently and locked it securely. As soon as the darkness of his study engulfed him, his heart felt heavy, and he shut his eyes.

  His sons, his weaknesses, and his strengths.

  Their greatest strength was to show him that there was always a way, and his youngest son had done just that. The consequence, however, was detrimental, but if he played his part well, it could be averted. He could not do this without bringing utter ruin upon them. Have I not already? He shook his head. That could be dealt with when the need arose. This had to be done, and it needed to be done right, in order to ameliorate the disarray constituted purely because of his own involvement in the first place.

  He steeled his nerves and gathered his wits.

  “Urduk,” he called aloud.

  A Ghul, taking the form of a mere shadow in dark, emerged from the far corner. “Master.”

  “You heard what my son said?”

  “Yes, Master,” came the grappling, rasping reply.

  “This is more than a mere coincidence,” Harun stated.

  “Indeed,” Urduk agreed.

  “You know what you must do then,” Harun instructed with urgency in his voice. “Go! With haste!”

  The Ghul dissipated into the very shadows it had emerged from, and its presence was no more.

  Harun gathered his thoughts once again, and stooped to pleat the moth-eaten rug on the stone floor, revealing two painted circles. Inside each circle was a five-pointed pentagram with strange, unearthly symbols around the edges. He stood inside one circle, making sure to remain within the lines. Even an inch out of its boundaries could prove disastrous.

  He had been careless, once before, to lose his balance and stumble out of the circle, and he recalled the cataclysmic event that had taken place in the derelict crypt where he had found that foul book. He was thick in the midst of binding a Jinn who guarded the Book, when a bat flew at him, knocking him off balance, and in that instance, all the spells and incantations were broken. The barrier had been lifted.

  Had it not been for Ad
va and the Amulet, Harun would have been dead before he hit the ground. Incidentally, this was the same Jinn he was about to summon.

  Once he was ready, he began reciting a string of incantations under his breath, in a language that was not remotely related to any human tongue. The temperature in the room cooled drastically, until mist poured from his mouth when he breathed. There was a distinct whiff of rotting eggs, followed by a faint pop and a light puff of dark smoke.

  The smoke had materialized from the very air around him, thickening and conforming to shape. Drawn from the darkest shadows of the room, it writhed and slithered with a life of its own. When the last remaining wisps cleared, there stood before him a pale-skinned entity with blank, milky eyes. Gold rings latticed both his ears, gleaming in the candlelight.

  The Jinn was shirtless, its sculptured torso glistening like it had just stepped out of water. The lower half of its body would have been that of a mule, hairy and muscular, complete with hooves for feet. It was so tall, it had to stoop, glowering at Harun, who had to crane his neck to meet its lifeless eyes. The climate readjusted itself and became warmer, and no one but the occupants of the room knew what had happened.

  “Ba’al.”

  “Master,” the creature spoke in a deep, growling voice. “You summoned?”

  Unlike Urduk, a mere Ghul, Ba’al was not an entity he could simply call and dismiss upon a mere whim. It was a far more powerful and demanding Jinn. Which is why a summoning ritual was imperative. It needed to be controlled and contained, to be commanded only at the utmost of dire need.

  “I did,” Harun replied. “I have a task for you.”

  “Indeed?” The creature eyed him. “Payment...” it hissed. “I demand payment, sorcerer, as you very well know.”

  “You dare raise your voice before me?” Harun snarled. “You dare demand from an Amulet Master? Need I teach you the meaning of servitude, slave?”

  The Jinn wrinkled its inhuman nose in contempt and displeasure, but said nothing. Harun allowed several moments to pass in silence before continuing.

  “Hear my words clearly,” he said, maintaining a stern and firm tone, “for I have decided to release you after your task.”

  Perhaps that was payment enough. “I am listening,” Ba’al grinned. Three sets of razor sharp, drooling teeth were enough to make even the toughest man cower for life.

  “Wipe that smirk off your face!” Harun said harshly. “It churns my stomach!”

  It heeded reluctantly. It was not afraid of Harun. It feared the man’s retribution. The weapons he possessed.

  Harun sensed its apprehension. “They are hidden,” he assured it. Fear impelled it into obedience, but he also needed its trust for the task that lay ahead. A task that no Jinn would ever dare to do.

  It repositioned itself, its hooves clunking on the stone floor. “What is it then? Another quest to the Dead City? Another hunt for treasure?”

  Harun shook his head, “No. Not this time. I have a more demanding task for you.”

  “Speak, and it shall be done.”

  Harun took a deep breath. “I need something concealed from all eyes. Of Jinn and man.”

  “Secrets!” Ba’al hissed. “What secrets would you be hiding then?”

  “Some that concern Jinn-kind,” Harun replied coolly. “Others that concern mankind. Many more beyond the comprehension of either being.”

  “Very well,” Ba’al raised its scaly chin, “what task is this?”

  “After my final entry in the Book,” Harun explained, “I want you to seal it. Place on it a perpetual enchantment. I forbid you to alter even a single inscription, do you understand?”

  “The Book’s text is ancient and sacred to the Jinn,” Ba’al’s expression darkened. “Its desecration is detrimental upon all of Jinn-kind.”

  “Then I trust you will uphold those laws with whatever integrity courses through your essence!” Harun challenged.

  The Jinn’s blank eyes narrowed, filled with hate and loathe. “You question my honor?”

  “I take issue with your very existence,” Harun retorted.

  The Jinn became infuriated, barring its gruesome teeth.

  “Cast your hatred upon me all you want,” Harun pressed into the wound, “but you have brought this upon yourself.”

  The Jinn looked away and Harun grinned inwards. He had it right where he wanted it.

  “When you are done with the book,” he went on indifferently, “I want you to bind Adva to the Amulet. You know the incantation, you know the ritual,” he pointed at the floor-desk. Beside it was a small wooden box, bound in leather and embossed in gold embroidery. “You will find everything you need in there.”

  “You are asking me to imprison my own kind.”

  “And do you have a problem with that?” Harun raised an eyebrow.

  “None at all,” Ba’al replied. “Only curious. She has been of benefit to you; why imprison her?”

  “Imprison is not the same as death, is it?” Harun asked. “All I need is for her to remain asleep, until such time as she needs to be woken. Now, if you are done questioning your master, shall we begin?”

  “Certainly,” the Jinn replied. “What of the Veil?”

  “What of it?” Harun raised an eyebrow.

  “Should I keep it open?”

  Harun nodded.

  “And the key?” Ba’al asked.

  “Fear.”

  “Fear…” the Jinn flashed his fangs with another wide grin, “Interesting. Who is to be afraid, and who will be feared?”

  “That too is none of your concern,” Harun said plainly. “Leave the veil open for her return, and let it be fear that breaks her bonds.”

  “It shall be done,” Ba’al gave a short, reluctant bow. “The spell shall be bound on a scroll. You must keep all the items contained together. If the scroll is undone, the spell will be broken.”

  Harun nodded in acknowledgment. “Oh, and there is one other thing,” he said before dismissing the demon. “The seal on the book must only be undone by Adva, and no other. Understood?”

  “If it will earn me my freedom,” the Jinn responded.

  “You sound unconvinced,” Harun stated.

  It clucked its tongue, if at all it had a tongue to cluck. “Be warned, sorcerer. If you do not fulfill these terms, only death will undo the curse that will befall you and yours.”

  “Death is an uncertainty and an inevitability,” Harun said. “I do not fear it.”

  “And the Ring Bearer?” Ba’al asked, to which Harun looked away and avoided its gaze. “He does not know, does he?” It smirked again, wider this time. “Oh, what have you done, sorcerer?”

  Harun shook his head. “It matters not. The Ring was only meant to be used as a carrier. Complete this task, and you will have your freedom.”

  “If it is as you say, then it will be done,” the Jinn said after a brief pause. “Too long have I lived in chains. I yearn to return to my realm.”

  “Freedom is an illusion,” Harun stated. “A sympathy for emotion. A mask of delusion!”

  With a final malicious grin, exposing its drooling teeth, the Jinn vanished in a puff of dark smoke, leaving behind a trailing scent of rotting eggs. Harun returned to his desk, picked up a quill and blank piece of parchment. His hand shook slightly, hovering an inch above the parchment for several silent moments while he collected his thoughts.

  When he was ready, he dipped his quill into the inkpot.

  Siyaad,

  I pray this letter finds you in confidence and in good health. I have considered your proposal greatly, but for as long as our personal matters remain unresolved, we must keep our secrecy. Fragility endures between Suha and I, and such a notion will only shatter our relationship. I urge you to remain patient until we are ready.

  I have reviewed the notes and extracts along with the scrolls you sent me, and reexamined them with what the book has had to offer. As vague and unclear as the extracts have been, there can be no more doubt concerning the D
ark Prince. There will always be another to claim the Throne of Ithm. You were right about the deception, and I now regret ever stepping into Azhar’s tent. How I wish fate had brought us together much sooner, that I may have prevented this tragedy from ever happening. Unfortunately, very little can be done to prevent any further devastation.

  For now, all I can do is seal the Book and the Amulet, to prevent the inevitable, and as soon as I complete this tedious task, I will make haste for Uduff. Await my arrival after the next crescent moon.

  I will take my leave here, and return to my work.

  Farewell, and Peace be upon you.

  Your brother,

  Harun.

  TWENTY-ONE

  THE SILVER DAGGER

  PRESENT DAY.

  Zaki tore down the stairs and out the front door, Mukhtar on his heel. They emerged into the street just as the hem of Gizwani’s brown thaub vanished around the corner.

  “After him!” Zaki yelled, and together, both brothers began the chase.

  Gizwani was agiler than anticipated. They could barely keep him in their sights. He led them halfway across the city, through the intricate maze of streets and alleys, before eventually attempting to lose them amidst the now retreating crowds of Souk Al-Huda.

  Mukhtar and Zaki were faced with a difficult task, struggling to maintain pursuit while keeping clear of the city guards. They had only just entered the sheltered market when Zaki tugged on Mukhtar’s shoulder.

  “Wait,” he said, and they slowed down. “Give him the illusion of losing us.”

  “And follow him to his masters!” Mukhtar agreed, and they kept a safe but visual distance, following him past the narrow, winding lanes of the market, up along an aisle that traded in silk.

  Gizwani slowed his pace, and despite constantly glancing over his shoulder, he did not seem to spot either of his pursuers. Zaki lingered close by, pretending to be a shopper, while Mukhtar held back further behind another stall, peering through the gaps of long, colorful drapes hanging from the rafters. Even though the day was waning, the Souk was still a frenzy of assorted languages, bargains, arguments, shouts and cheers. The Souk’s guards were moving from stall to stall, imposing their authority, alerting both shoppers and merchants to complete their transactions with haste and return to their homes.