The Amulets of Sihr

by Abu Bilaal Yakub

  Mukhtar watched Gizwani carefully, for he now appeared to be searching for something, or someone. His gaze hovered across, but did not seem to spot the brothers. Two men, carrying a large sack of goods, were passing through, and the crowd dispersed to give them way. They moved along the aisle, and the sack obscured Mukhtar’s view. When they passed, Gizwani had vanished— again!

  Mukhtar cursed under his breath and started forward, Zaki following closely.

  “Where is he?” he growled impatiently.

  “He slipped through the alley to the Incense Lane,” Zaki nudged him forward.

  The sweet fragrances of Incense Lane greeted them well before they emerged on the other side. Most of the shops were already closed for the day, and a handful of shoppers still hung about the remaining few, making their final purchases.

  “I cannot see him,” Zaki craned his neck over their heads.

  “Neither can I,” Mukhtar did the same in the opposite direction.

  “Wait here,” Zaki crossed the aisle, ran up the wall, and grabbed hold of a wooden beam overhead. He hoisted himself up in a single, swift motion, ignoring the curses and insults from people passing by. He squatted upon the beam like a bird of prey, and scanned both directions.

  “Get down from there!” A guard, much further along the aisle, had spotted him.

  “There!” Zaki ignored the guard’s warning and pointed to the far side. “Close to the Musalla!”

  Mukhtar looked. The Musalla was the very same prayer area where he had seen the hideous beggar, after which the slavers had begun chasing him. It occurred to him that he had not returned to the same spot since that fateful day.

  A scrawny and disheveled man, highly intoxicated, appeared before him. The stench was unbelievable, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, dry skin stretched over empty bones, and yet, with surprising strength, the man was able to grab hold of the front of Mukhtar’s thaub and beg for a few coins, that he may be able to acquire and satisfy his next dose.

  Mukhtar felt a rush of animosity. He forced himself free and pushed the man away in disgust, receiving nothing but curses and insults in return, until the man found another victim to harass.

  Slightly ruffled, Mukhtar quickly recovered his bearings and spotted Gizwani, leaning in casual pretense against the wall on the opposite side. His brown thaub, drenched in sweat, was darker around his chest, and his brown-skinned face was glistening in the dimming light of the Souk. His stony eyes darted in every direction, brow furrowed in distress.

  Zaki appeared moments after, panting slightly.

  Mukhtar nudged his head in Gizwani’s direction. “Who is he waiting for, I wonder?”

  “We are about to find out,” Zaki pointed, bringing Mukhtar’s attention to a hooded figure approaching Gizwani from the opposite direction. The figure wore a white turban, simple robes, and a cloth wrapped over its nose and mouth, and although well-concealed, Mukhtar could distinguish the unmistakable signs of daggers and throwing-knives beneath its robes.

  “An assassin of Ghuldad?” he whispered to Zaki.

  “So it would seem,” Zaki whispered back and nudged him forward. “He looks armed. Be vigilant.”

  They split up again and moved in closer, waiting patiently for what would follow. The figure approached Gizwani and they began speaking, but overhearing the conversation over the boisterous notes of the market was no simple task.

  Gizwani’s back was turned to them, and all Mukhtar could discern of his acquaintance were his piercing, light-green eyes. He leaned forward to whisper something in Gizwani’s ear, and after a few moments, they parted, and before Zaki or Mukhtar could intervene, he had vanished among the people. Gizwani remained standing where he was, and Mukhtar, who was closest, approached him cautiously.

  What followed was too abrupt and astonishing for him to immediately comprehend, and it was only instinctive that he caught Gizwani’s collapsing body. His hands were clamped around his stomach, gripping the hilt of a silver dagger with an intricate pattern of a serpent on its hilt, protruding from a single spot where a crimson stain was already spreading. His mouth was frothy, and he trembled uncontrollably, his skin becoming paler as his life faded away.

  Mukhtar’s ears were ringing with an odd sound that muffled the screams and shrieks of the panicking crowd. He did not even realize Zaki calling to him, as he stared into the cold, dead eyes of his neighbor, the man he had despised for so long. And yet, in that moment, he could not help but be overcome with pity and remorse.

  He looked up, lips trembling, eyes wide with horror.

  “You must leave!” Zaki was saying. “Go! Now!”

  Mukhtar fumbled with words, glancing from Zaki to Gizwani.

  “Go!”

  It took a moment for him to realize what Zaki was urging him to do. Guards were pushing their way through the aggravated and panicking crowd, approaching them with murderous intent.

  As carefully as he could, he laid Gizwani’s head on the ground and passed a hand over his eyes, before tearing through the resistive crowd. He escaped through the narrow alley, returned to the winding lane of silk merchants, and had already vanished before the guards had arrived at Gizwani’s body. Whether Zaki had escaped or not, he was unsure, for his thoughts now lay on the assassin who had vanished with the winds.

  The assassin knew their plans and their deeds, which meant it would not be long before Ghulam’s death, and the names of his assailants, were made publicly aware. It was only a matter of time before Immorkaan would arrive at his doorstep to chain whoever they deemed guilty. Mukhtar shuddered at the thought of Suha, vulnerable and in harm’s way. Something must be done, and with haste.

  The only other person who knew about Ghulam’s death was Nabiha, and he immediately altered his course for Thamir’s mansion. He arrived at the western wall of the mansion and stopped to reconsider his options. When he was certain of what he needed to do, he scaled and climbed over the rough stone, and stealthily crept across the neatly trimmed grass, heading for the kitchens.

  Dusk was already upon the city, the evening sky riddled with distant glimmers of stars and a fading orange haze across the western horizon. Palm trees swayed with the evening breeze, complimented by the calm and soothing caress of the sea upon the shoreline.

  Just like the previous evening, the kitchen doors were left wide open to ventilate the steam and heat from the fire pits. Mukhtar spotted the bulking figure of Kazimi barking orders at the servants in preparation of the evening meal. When he caught his eye, Kazimi ushered the servants to continue working as he approached Mukhtar.

  “Why have you come here, slave?” he asked rudely.

  “Do not call me that,” Mukhtar warned him. “I have not come to contend with you.”

  “Do not speak as if you have authority here, slave!” Kazimi snapped. “State your purpose, or begone before I call the guards!”

  Mukhtar bit the retort he was itching to give back. Instead, he put on a more docile tone. “I must speak with her Ladyship. I ask that you call her for me.”

  Kazimi gave a loud chuckle, his bulbous belly bobbing up and down. “She will not speak with you, slave! Not after your treachery last night!”

  “She will if she wishes to save her skin,” Mukhtar said, impatiently abandoning his act of plea. “Now, be a good servant and fetch her for me. I will await her in the gardens.”

  He turned on his heel and walked away before Kazimi had any time to process his statement. He did not mean to insult, but with the turmoil of what was happening, and Kazimi’s own smug demeanor, he did not really feel the guilt of doing so.

  He hid amidst the shrubbery as the final glimmers of daylight dissipated into night, wondering whether she would truly show herself. Would Kazimi call for her, or merely ignore Mukhtar’s heed and carry on with his duties as if he were never there? What if they ambushed him where he hid? He had not really thought of that either. He was nervously debating whether to continue waiting or to leave before it was too late, when she finally
appeared, strolling barefooted, wearing night-robes of a bluish-white shade. Her head was covered in a loose, nearly transparent scarf, and much of her jewelry was missing except for her anklets, jingling with every step she took. Even without her adornments, her allure was not undefined, radiating despite the vanishing daylight. Mukhtar made sure she was alone before he made his presence known.

  “What do you want?” She did not care to hide her displeasure, nor did she seem surprised to see him.

  “I must speak with you!” he said urgently.

  His distressed expression was enough for her to take him seriously, and she gave a curt nod, signaling him to follow. She led him across the gardens, and they arrived at an opening between a large flowerbed and the same wall he had crossed over.

  She sat cross-legged on the grass. “You seem utterly distraught.”

  “Indeed I am,” he sat before her, and began narrating what had happened at the Souk, all the while thinking to himself— what would happen next? Had Zaki escaped successfully? Had he returned home safely? Had the ill news already reached Samiya’s ears? And what of little Misbah, now fatherless just as he was?

  He wanted to weep, but just as when Hassin had died, he held back the tears. Held back the emotions. But he could not hold back the tremble in his voice. He could not hold back the anger and fury he had felt even then. Unlike before, however, he could not face this enemy with mere swords and daggers. He needed more.

  “You said you knew what haunts me,” he stated.

  “I did.”

  “You spoke of tainted witchcraft, a dark presence about me.”

  “You reek of it,” she gave him a disgusted look. “I fail to understand, what is it you want from me?”

  “I want you to show me how to harness the power of this Jinn!” he demanded.

  She laughed. Shamelessly and mirthlessly. “Turn back, Mukhtar,” she then warned in an ominous tone. “You are too weak to sink into the dark depths of witchcraft!”

  “I am prepared to embrace the darkness!” he declared, and even as he said it, he did not know whether he truly meant it.

  “So you may enact your revenge?” she asked simply.

  “So I may bring justice to these wrongdoers!” he claimed. “I must end their tyranny!”

  “You must?” she sounded hysterical. “And who has tasked you with this mission? Oh, pray tell, the divinity that has dubbed you an emissary of justice!”

  “Do not mock me!”

  “And if I do?” she retorted back. “Will you knife me as well?”

  “You vowed!”

  “I lied!” she said blatantly. “What now, murderer?”

  Mukhtar was abashed. What now? His last remaining hope was already fading away. Was there no end to her betrayal? His mind raced back a few hours, when he and Zaki were discussing in his room. They did not know how much Gizwani had heard, but it had clearly been enough to face his death. The assailant must have been Ussam’s agent. What Mukhtar could not understand was why Gizwani sought out that particular person? An oblivious man would have alerted any city guard. So why that particular one? The only explanation was that he had been tasked to spy on them from the very beginning, and the only person foolish enough to have claimed so, stood before him.

  “You!” he released the mechanism on his wrist, drew his dagger, and stood up threateningly. “You killed Gizwani at the Souk! You sent him to spy on us!”

  “Sit down, Mukhtar. Before you alert the guards!” she said with a disinterested tone. “You are making a fool of yourself by jumping to conclusions. Wrong conclusions.”

  “How else did you know about my brother and I?” Mukhtar remained standing. “Gizwani has been spying for you all along. He spoke to you in the Souk, and since you no longer had use of him, you killed him.”

  “Yes, Mukhtar,” she said in a bored voice and a false yawn. “You have uncovered my secret ploy and devious act. And right after I killed him, I hurried back, washed my hands, and decided to take a leisurely stroll in the garden to unwind my thoughts. Do you know how ridiculous you sound?”

  Mukhtar gazed at her in bewilderment before realizing the facts in her words. Slightly red around the ears, he returned the dagger to its sheathing and sat back down.

  “He wore simple robes,” he tried to recall the assailant, “but the dagger... the dagger was made of silver, the hilt in the shape of a serpent. It was a poisoned blade. Gizwani was dead as soon it pierced him.”

  “The Seven Secret Serpents,” Nabiha stated darkly. “The King’s Elite Assassins. Protectors of the Inner Circle. Said to have been trained by Ussam Bashiri himself. Your neighbor, it seems, was a mole for men of very high statures.”

  “So it seems...” Mukhtar narrowed his eyes. “You cannot help me then. I must find another way.”

  “You are distressed,” she said. “I understand. But you must calm yourself before making hasty decisions, lest the wrong person suffer the consequences of your rashness.”

  He wrapped his arms around his drawn knees, and stared into the darkness for a long moment. “I am at a loss,” he said finally.

  “By your own doing,” she stated plainly. “You chose this path, Mukhtar. You can blame no other for your loss.”

  He threw her a cautious glance. Not only did she speak what was true, but in a rather strange way, she almost sounded like Adil.

  “I do not blame anyone but myself,” he admitted bitterly. “My neighbor is dead. Witnesses suspect my brother and I. The true assassin has escaped with everything his masters need to know. It will not be long before Immorkaan arrives at my doorstep to place my brother and I in irons before my mother’s very eyes. She endured it when my father was imprisoned. I cannot bear to see such grief burden her again. It will destroy her!”

  “Why should I care?” Nabiha scoffed. “You are responsible for the consequences of your actions!”

  “You do not understand!” he remarked. “How can you be so selfish and ignorant? This is greater than either of us!”

  “You are a fool!” Anger blemished her pretty face. “Your arrogance will destroy you and everything you have come to know, and after the threats you made last night, what makes you think I will ever grant you allegiance?”

  “How can you—?”

  “I trusted you!” She had nothing but hatred in her eyes. “And you betrayed me by destroying my only chance of ever finding my sister again!”

  “You betrayed us by blackmailing us!”

  “You put a blade to my throat!”

  “You invited me to!” he sneered.

  What followed was unexpected. She uttered a string of phrases in a strange language and waved her arms furiously. A powerful gust of wind surged across the gardens, forcing the palm trees to bow to the ground against their will. It swept Mukhtar off his feet, and flung him several feet into the air. He fell hard and painfully, tasting dirt and grass in his mouth.

  “Do not underestimate me!” she snarled fiercely. “I am not without protection!”

  Mukhtar coughed, spat, groaned, and fumbled to get up, and despite almost losing consciousness, he laughed. “Where was your protection when you were at my mercy, sorceress?”

  In an almost similar fashion, she waved her arms once more and the winds came again with an even fiercer intent, flinging him higher into the air and much harder onto the ground. He bumped, bounced, and rolled, until he came to lay flat on his back, the very breath knocked out of him, painfully aware of the many bruises he had accumulated.

  She approached and stood over him in a most formidable fashion Even in the darkness, there was no mistaking the fiery gleam in her eyes. “I should have killed you and your band of miscreants when I had the chance!”

  He coughed and drew breath, reminiscing the moment they were alone in the room. “Why didn’t you?” he asked hoarsely, crawling away from her, allowing himself enough room to fling his dagger if another such demonic catastrophe were to arise. “What stayed your hand then, I wonder?”

  “Y
ou know why!” she said scathingly.

  “I gave you the names!” Mukhtar sat upright and drew more breath. He felt the ache and soreness from being tossed about like a sack of hay.

  “The names mean nothing,” she turned away. “I was deceived. The only reason why Ghulam had that list was because every slaver on it was dead, and now I have no way of knowing who was responsible and where she may be.”

  “He was covering his tracks...” Mukhtar’s thoughts began to wander, “...why?” He gazed at her for a long moment, observing the manner in which a loose strand of hair swayed about the side of her face. He calculated his options. Would it be wise to make an enemy of her, or foolish to befriend her? Such a powerful ally was an asset indeed, but another soul he would be bringing into harm’s way. As if she wasn’t already, he thought. What then did it matter if she walked the same path as he?

  “I too was enslaved,” he said, maintaining sincerity in his voice. “I bear your pain. But it is time you chose the needs of others over your own. Help me fight this war, so that your sister and others like her can realize the freedom they deserve.”

  “You have the nerve to call me selfish, yet all you truly care about is saving your own skin!” She scoffed. “Is that not why you are here? Was that not why killed Ghulam? You only ever sought vengeance!”

  Mukhtar felt anger rush through his veins, but he mustered himself. “Ghulam is dead, his mercenaries and slavers are dead, but his masters live on and they seek to overthrow the rule of Azhar Babak. They seek open war. They seek to destroy all that exists in culture and faith, and govern mankind under a singular ideology of their own. They will enslave or eradicate those they deem inferior, and empower those they deem superior. Thus doing, they will create a humanity to their perfection. It will be their New World without God.”