The Amulets of Sihr

by Abu Bilaal Yakub

  The air was filled with the chirping of crickets, the subtle drift of the breeze, and rustle of leaves and branches. In the far distant, they could hear the dying sounds of the city, overcome by the calming waves upon the shoreline.

  She was gazing at him intently. “Every politician seeks greater power. On any given day, there are at least ten who are plotting to overthrow Azhar Babak. Does it matter which fool wears the King’s crown?”

  “As I said, your Ladyship,” he asserted, “it is time for you to choose a side. You can remain in ignorance, and assume they will have a place for you in their New World, but I can assure you, they will only destroy everything you know, to create their own. Nothing will be left, not for you, nor for me.”

  She was quiet, and the moments endured until Mukhtar felt he had no other option. He had hoped to gain an ally from her, perhaps even more. It had been a fool’s hope. Eventually, he decided to abandon it, and approached the wall, preparing to climb over. He had to return home and contend with the foreboding of Gizwani’s death. How would he explain everything to Suha? How would he relate with Misbah? How would he reveal to them that Gizwani was a spy for evil men?

  “Wait!” she called, and he stopped and turned. “How can I be certain of what you speak?”

  “You sensed a demonic presence about me,” he stated.

  “I did,” her eyes narrowed. “I only assumed you were possessed by a Jinn.”

  “Were I to tell you the truth about this Jinn?” he took a step forward. “Were I to tell you of the devilish things I have witnessed, and the truth about The Dark Prince?”

  “What do you mean?” her whisper almost dissipated with the wind.

  He tugged on the chain around his neck, and pulled out the Amulet. In the darkness, it radiated, casting a hazy, mesmerizing, bluish glow over his hands.

  Nabiha’s gasp almost made her run out of breath. For a brief moment, she swayed on the spot and after regaining her composure, she approached him cautiously, eyes affixed on the Amulet, drawn by its mystical allure. She leaned in so close to look upon it, the scent of her Bakhoor filled his nostrils.

  “It is true then!” she gasped. “The Amulets of Sihr exist!”

  “Ghulam said that united, they would open something.”

  “The Doorway to Almah-Zurah,” she spoke breathlessly. “The Eye of Hurus! The perfection of the human soul… in harmony with the body… inferior in every aspect, yet superior as created… And ye shall witness the rising of the Hand of Azazil, the ultimate weapon of the Dark Prince… nay shall he be defeated… by the power of the five… this bodes ill! This bodes ill for us all!”

  TWENTY-TWO

  THE PRIESTESS OF AFTARA

  It was no secret among devout practitioners of sorcery. It was the myth of myths, the legend of legends, and ever sought by those who crave power. At least, that is how Nabiha described it.

  He had climbed over the wall and waited, as per her instructions, in the dark alley across the mansion. Concealed in the shadows, he nervously fidgeted with the Amulet, pondering over what might happen next. An immense fear had overtaken him since he escaped the Souk earlier, and showed no signs of ebbing. Was he doing right by trusting Nabiha? What if she aligned with the enemy? She was, after all, Thamir’s aide. What evidence did he have that she would not betray Mukhtar to him?

  He withdrew further into the shadows as a large caravan of several camels, horses, and mule-driven carts, thundered along the street, coming to a halt at the mansion gates. The camels and carts were laden with heavy sacks and overhanging bales of goods. The horses were mounted by both civilian tradesmen and soldiers, with several more escorting the large procession on foot. After a short interrogation by the guards at the gates, the caravan leader, clad in dark robes, gave a high-pitched whistle. The caravan slowly jolted into motion as the gates swung open to allow them entry.

  More goods for Thamir to smuggle, Mukhtar thought bitterly, his lip curling slightly. More to add to his already teeming hoards of wealth.

  Nabiha arrived a short while after the caravan had cleared away, marching briskly toward him. She had changed her attire to suit the journey ahead, and after ensuring they were not being followed, they headed north, beyond the inner wall and out of the city. Her status as Thamir’s aide required no identification, and they strolled the city streets, past guard patrols and stations, unhindered. Those who dared to interrogate them, were left with shame, for she spared no expense in embarrassing them before their fellow soldiers.

  “Almah-Zurah is the Forbidden Land beyond the Veil,” she explained as they moved further into the outskirts of the city, continuing north in the direction of the cabin. “Said to host legions of Jinn, it is a barren stretch of fire, ash, ruin, and poison.”

  “And the Eye of Hurus?” Mukhtar asked.

  Nabiha’s loose scarf fluttered with a passing breeze. “The Doorway. A gateway to the other side. Because of the Veil, man cannot see into the world of the Jinn. The Eye of Hurus was built by the people of old. A very ancient civilization. The Western tribes of Arammoria are said to be descended from them. It was built to allow a human soul to journey to the other side. Almah-zurah is said to be only one of the many civilizations of the Unseen World beyond the Veil. No one knows where this doorway truly is, only that the Dark Prince Azazil has the power to unlock it and summon armies of Jinn to his bidding. Many, however, consider it to be just a myth.”

  “His fortress has been rebuilt,” Mukhtar said. “I have seen it with my own eyes, if only from a distance. Nothing mythical about it.”

  She stopped, and so did he. Her expression had become terrified again.

  “It is true,” he affirmed.

  “Then we must hurry!” She quickened her pace.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  They were well beyond the city’s boundaries now, trekking along the Sultan’s Pass into open farmlands. The air was cleaner, the breeze pleasant. Mukhtar could hear the distinct rush of the flowing waters of the Hubur as they passed the cabin. In the distance was a magnificent mansion amidst fields of wheat and barley on one side, and groves of date palms on the other.

  “To one who is more knowledgeable than I,” Nabiha replied. “She will help us better understand the Amulet and its Jinn.”

  “She?” Mukhtar raised a dubious eyebrow.

  Nabiha nodded. “She is one of the Priestesses of our Temple.”

  “Your Temple?” Mukhtar raised his other eyebrow.

  “Yes,” she gave a brisk nod. “I serve the Temple of Aftara.”

  It was Mukhtar’s turn to stop in his tracks. “You are a worshipper of a pagan god!” he remarked. “You bow to a demon cloaked as a deity! Aftara is a false god who serves the Dark Prince, and I will go no further with you!”

  “Too pious to trust a sorceress?” she mocked. “Such hypocrisy! You wear an Amulet of Sihr like a medallion around your neck, and preach piety to others? Do you even know its true purpose?”

  “I may have little knowledge of it,” he said sternly, “but I am no fool! I will not risk bringing it closer to the Dark Prince’s agents!”

  “Which is why we are going to a High Priestess, and not to Ussam!” she said pointedly. “Now stop groping in the dark, like a fool, and pick up the pace!”

  Mukhtar stood his ground. “Aftara serves the Dark Prince. You serve Aftara,” his tone was steadily becoming darker and threatening. “Need I elaborate more?”

  “You asked me to trust you,” she said, “and I am asking you to trust me. What I will not do, is allow the likes of you to judge what you do not understand!”

  “You are not too far from judgment!” he hissed menacingly. “Your false idols will burn, because they are nothing but. I will not allow you to guide me along the same impious path you walk, and I will certainly not allow the Amulet to fall into your wicked hands!”

  She took a cautious step forward, hands held open in surrender. “Mukhtar... I beg you to trust me. I will not allow it either, you have m
y word, but you seek answers, as do I, and there is none other I know who can provide them.”

  Their eyes were locked, and behind the fiery gleam and mask of austerity, Mukhtar could somehow see a shadow of sincerity. Not evident enough to trust, but enough, perhaps, to take a chance. With caution.

  “Be warned, sorceress,” he snarled, “at the slightest shimmer of doubt, I will unsheathe my dagger, as well as the ravenous power of the Amulet,” he chanced a bluff. “You, nor your High Priestess, will witness the light of dawn. This I vow to you!”

  She gave him a cold hard stare, studying him, searching for a weakness in his staunch threat. She then nodded curtly and began walking again. Mukhtar followed cautiously.

  He wondered why she had suddenly become so anxious and intimidated by him. Was it perhaps because of the Amulet? He had already witnessed her sorcery, perhaps a mere portion of it. How much more powerful was this Amulet, enough to incite fear in such a potent practitioner? Or was she not potent? Not even a practitioner perhaps. Was her display of vehemence merely that? A mere flaunt? An illusion? He could still feel the soreness of the bruises from being tossed into the air and hard onto the ground. Perhaps not. Still, he grinned inwards. He did not even feel the guilt. If he played his part well, he could turn the tide in his favor, even though he did not yet know how to harness the power of the Amulet.

  “Where are we?” He peered through the darkness at the facade of the large mansion looming closer into view. Plastered and whitewashed, with glass windows and elegant wooden framings, it impressed him unlike any other building he had seen in the city. The architecture along the edge of the roof was ornamented with brass pikes. Dull orange glows in random windows, and around its perimeter, indicated that its occupants were still awake despite the late hour.

  “The Sweet Orchards,” Nabiha said after she had identified herself to the guards. They were escorted along a short, narrow road leading up to the mahogany front doors, where another pair of guards showed them inside. “This is the home of Rasha bint Sumrah.”

  They waited patiently in the open courtyard, floored with polished brick and bordered with stone archways under a balcony.

  “Rasha bint Sumrah,” Mukhtar’s tone became stony when he repeated the name.

  Nabiha gave him a nervous glance. “I urge you restrain yourself. Rasha is a perilous woman, but she has the resources we need. Be cautious.”

  Before he could respond, a man approached them. “Lady Nabiha. The hour is late,” he spoke to her in an affluent tone and a polished Khalidan accent, wearing a clean white thaub, a flowing black cloak, and a white cap over his curly black hair. His short beard was oiled, glimmering in the light of the lantern in his right hand, while the left was held behind him as a sign of respect.

  “Where is Sister Rasha?” Nabiha responded without much consideration. “I must speak with her.”

  “She is abed,” he turned his gaze at Mukhtar, scanning his shabby attire with dark, Kohl-lined eyes. “Perhaps if you were to return in the morning, I can arrange for a meeting then. Or perhaps you are weary from your journey, and would prefer to stay the night? I can arrange for one— or two of the guest rooms to be prepared.”

  His oily voice and aristocratic diction was like the buzz of an irksome fly. The more he spoke, the greater Mukhtar felt the urge to knife him, but restrained himself with an aloof expression and remained silent, fidgeting with Mika’il’s ring.

  “Or perhaps you can wake her and tell her I wish to speak with her!” Nabiha pressed, her voice becoming rather dangerous.

  “If you insist,” the man gave a short bow, turned, and escorted them off the courtyard to a large room with an empty floor-table and large puffy cushions.

  “You may wait here,” the man bowed again and left.

  Mukhtar had rarely seen luxurious abodes, and even the few he had, remotely came close to this one room. Highly polished dark oak gleamed beneath a rich and thick rug of intricate patterns and colors. The walls were finely plastered, and an elegant brass chandelier, with snake-like adornments and burning candles, hung from the ceiling.

  Nabiha casually sunk into a cushion, while Mukhtar, not knowing what to do, remained standing in the furthermost isolated corner from the door. While they waited, servants appeared consecutively, bringing trays of food, random cutlery, and pitchers of wine. The empty table was bedecked with an assortment of glistening meats, succulent fruits, and shimmering drinks. Once again, Nabiha casually helped herself to whatever she fancied, as though she was a regular guest at the mansion. Mukhtar awkwardly refused whatever he was offered, ignoring the pangs of hunger in his stomach caused by the scrumptious aromas of the food. He kept his eye, instead, on Nabiha. She tried not to show it, but he sensed her stealing cautious glances in his direction. He knew that she was nervous and agitated, that he might lose his grip, unleash his anger and ruin whatever it was she hoped to achieve by bringing him there.

  Incense was burned in two elaborate porcelain Mabkharas, and within moments, the room was filled with a hazy sweet smelling smoke. It was a long while before Rasha bint Sumrah presented herself, escorted by her handmaidens and the man who had greeted them earlier. As soon as she entered the room, Nabiha set aside her dishes and stood to greet her.

  “Nabiha!” Rasha remarked in a shrill, high-pitched voice, and gave a casual wave.

  The two women kissed each other on the cheeks, and Nabiha said, “I must speak with you. Urgently.”

  “Leave us!” Rasha instructed all her servants, and they hastened to obey. “You included, Fusan!”

  Fusan narrowed his Kohl-lined eyes ever so daringly. “This is against the creed of the Temple!” he protested.

  “And since when have you been one to question me, Fusan?” Rasha snarled at him.

  “Not to question,” Fusan gave another one of his short bows. “But to give… fair warning.”

  “Go away, Fusan!” Rasha gave another casual wave at the door. “I can handle my affairs by myself!”

  Slightly disgruntled, Fusan gave a final bow, and followed the rest of the servants, shutting the door behind him.

  “Now…” Rasha said, once they were alone, “… what am I to make of this late intrusion?”

  Nabiha responded with a slight nudge toward Mukhtar.

  “Indeed,” Rasha’s gaze fell upon Mukhtar, and her thin lips curled into a rather meaningless smile, her cold eyes suddenly filled with interest.

  Mukhtar saw her more clearly as she stepped forward. Older than either of them, Rasha still held herself in a manner that exhibited her elegance. Her pearly-white skin was smoothly stretched around her high cheekbones and a rather long neck. Her long beauteous hair hung in thick and dark locks. Silky night robes of a mint-green shade, fluttered as she approached him, coming to a halt barely a foot away. She was a few inches shorter than him, and carried with her an intimidating odor of stale wine. It was all Mukhtar could do to keep from wrinkling his nose.

  “Mukhtar Harun Zafar,” she parted her lips to display a rather provocative grin. “I thought Ussam had you gripped by your groin!”

  Mukhtar’s jaw was set. He forced himself to channel every bit of loathing in his stare. “Quite the contrary,” he held his hands together in false pretense, but his fingers were slowly edging towards the dagger’s mechanism concealed under his sleeve.

  “Indeed?” She leaned back slightly and eyed him contemptuously from head to toe.

  “He is crippled and aimless because of me,” he bluffed. “Much like you, in that sense.”

  “So you think.”

  “So I know,” his lips curled into a malicious grin.

  She returned an equally malevolent expression. “Its seems the Sons of Zafar have finally grown to be as foolish as their father. Tell me, how do you intend on facing the might of Ghuldad with nothing between your legs?”

  Mukhtar felt his blood boil, but he continued to display an aloof expression. “We have already sent his minions six feet into the ground. His world is slow
ly collapsing beneath him. If I were you, I would care less about him. His doom is sealed. How long do you think you will last?”

  Her grin vanished. Her jaw was set, her expression became stony. Infuriated, she wheeled around to face Nabiha.

  “He has found the Amulet, Rasha!” Nabiha stated. “Aftara smiles upon us!”

  “Oh, save your false piety for the Council of Sages and Priestesses!” Rasha shrieked. “You do not care if Aftara smiles or weeps. Rather, you do not believe if Aftara exists at all!”

  “Rasha!” Nabiha gave her a bewildered look. “This is hardly the place, or the time, to bring up such—”

  “It is you who have brought him here! And a foolish thing you have done!”

  “I had no other option,” Nabiha pressed. “If the Four Sahir come to know—”

  “Then you will have led them to my doorstep!” Rasha screeched. “Your foolish endeavors continue to reign misfortune upon me!”

  “We must prepare him!” Nabiha raised her voice to press her argument.

  “Prepare him for what? The prophecy?” Rasha threw her arms open in frustration. “The tall tales of slaves from another world?”

  “Prophecy or not, the truth cannot be denied!” Nabiha shrieked.

  She and Rasha locked threatening looks. Mukhtar did not care for their domestic discord, but at the sound of the prophecy, he was urged to intervene.

  “What is this prophecy?”

  “Nothing but a tall tale and a false rumor!” Rasha denied scornfully. “Much like the Amulets!”

  “The Amulets exist, Rasha,” Nabiha gasped, staring at her with disbelief. “How can you deny that? You believed in them! It was you who told me of their existence, and when one walks through the door, you choose to deny it?”

  Rasha glanced at Mukhtar uncertainly. “The Council will hear about this, and they will see it as a betrayal.”