The Amulets of Sihr

by Abu Bilaal Yakub

  “Then he has fled!” Mukhtar became agitated, giving rise to his wounds. “The coward!”

  “Whom do you speak of?” Rauf furrowed his brow.

  Merely thinking of it, brought him pain. “Ma’alim,” Mukhtar gritted his teeth in agony, clutching his chest.

  In an icy, stony moment, they stared at him with looks of pure disbelief. Both Nuzhah and Zaki attempted to ease his pain, while Nabiha rushed to bring more water.

  “I ask your forgiveness, brother,” Saif was first to break the silence. “The hour is late, and I must return home.”

  Mukhtar did not want him to leave, but he understood, more than anyone, why it was important. The less he involved Saif, the better. “I wish to see you again. Soon.”

  “If the Almighty wills it,” Saif said, raising a finger to the heavens. “At dawn, I will inform Prince Fa’iz of your recovery. He had expressly urged me to alert him when you woke. I believe he wishes to meet with you.”

  “How did you come to be the Prince’s messenger?” Mukhtar gave a quizzical look.

  “It was without choice, I assure you,” Saif stared at Ghasif, Rauf, and Zaki. “More capable individuals were tasked with the same, but declared themselves— if I were to use their own words— not the domestic hirelings of a pompous, pampered brat of the Royal Family.”

  Mukhtar could not help but give a light chuckle, desperately fighting through the pain in his chest.

  “From what I gather, the Prince was not pleased,” Rauf commented sarcastically.

  “Well, what did you expect?” Saif gave him an annoyed look. “You were civilized enough to declare it in the presence of his Royal Guards, his servants, and his courtesans!”

  Mukhtar laughed and grimaced in pain. “Inform the Prince that I will be honored to meet him when I am able,” he managed to say when the searing in his chest lessened.

  Saif bade them farewell and left. Nuzhah occupied his seat and eyed Mukhtar ambiguously, as though she could not believe he was alive. Nabiha stood beside her, wearing a similar expression. Rauf settled in a cushion against the wall beside Ghasif and Zaki, resting his foot on a much smaller one.

  “Can you be certain it was Ma’alim?” Ghasif was still frowning at him dubiously.

  “Do you doubt me?” Mukhtar challenged him.

  Ghasif looked mildly offended, and Mukhtar gave an arduous sigh. “Forgive me. I did not mean to insult.”

  “No one here doubts you, Mukhtar,” Ghasif assured him. “Not after what you have accomplished.”

  “He revealed his true self,” Mukhtar replied without meeting their eyes. He was not quite sure why he felt ashamed, whether it was because he failed, and Ma’alim escaped, or the mere fact he, Mukhtar, was responsible for releasing the beast.

  “You knew,” he said accusingly, glancing at Nuzhah. They all followed his gaze with confused expressions. Behind the veil, her expression was horrified. She looked to the others with anxiety, unsure of how to reply. “I freed you both. The wicked, and the righteous. You were enslaved along with General Masri and Ma’alim.”

  “I did not know until it was too late,” her voice was barely audible.

  “But you conveniently kept it from me!” Mukhtar accused.

  “I couldn’t—”

  “Couldn’t?” Mukhtar demanded harshly, and a sharp pain rose in his chest. “All the while I was chained to that accursed wheel, you uttered nothing but lies!”

  “Caution, Mukhtar!” Ghasif raised his voice.

  Mukhtar’s eyes widened, not because of Ghasif’s warning, but because he suddenly realized what he had done. The consequence of his outburst.

  Nuzhah’s eyes were teary and hurtful.

  “Forgive me!” Mukhtar gasped, horrified, and the pain in his chest arose again.

  She shook her head briskly, and just as she had done in the palace, she refused his apology, purely because she once again chose to take the blame upon herself. In doing so, she only left him with an undeserving, overburdening shadow of guilt.

  Her breath shortened, her voice shook. “When we escaped,” she explained, “we sought safe sanctuary. Kaden Talal, the fourth who was enslaved with us, spoke of Ghuldad and its open doors to those who were lost to the wilderness. Penniless and desperate, we slept in an alley that night, but when next I woke, we were before the gates of Ghuldad, pleading sanctuary.”

  “Sorcery!” Zaki, Ghasif, and Rauf said in unison.

  Nuzhah nodded somberly. “Ma’alim’s campaign to liberate the Assassins began soon after, and he strongly warned me not to speak of our enslavement. He did not want the assassins to know—”

  “That he was a slave, and nothing more!” Rauf growled and uttered a string of curses under his breath.

  Nabiha squeezed her shoulders, and Mukhtar tried to give her a reassuring look. He tried to tell her that she was not to blame, that she should not bear his guilt. It was his fault. His shame. His foolishness had brought about all this atrocity, had brought him enslavement, had forced him to sever friendships, and lead others to their death. He wanted to say so much more, but could not bring himself to utter the words. “What of the King?” he turned his gaze to the others.

  “He lives,” Rauf replied in a distant voice, pulling his gaze away from Nuzhah. “But only just. His healers tend to him, while Immorkaan convenes to decide upon his successor.”

  “Would that not be Prince Fa’iz?” Mukhtar furrowed his brow.

  “Prince Fa’iz is the rightful heir to the Throne, yes,” Nabiha spoke for the first time, and all eyes fell on her, “but he is not the only one with a right to claim, and by the laws of the land, only the Elder Council can name a successor. It is how Azhar Babak structured his governance. He did not want his Empire to be torn by a power struggle between his heirs.”

  “Absurdity!” Rauf remarked. “Ever has it been that power transcends to the next of kin. A true heir. A bloodline. How can the Elder Council be the one to judge a worthy ruler?”

  “One must wear the Sacrament of Sovereignty,” Zaki reminded them, “The stone marks he who is has the right to rule.”

  “The stone is merely an adornment,” Nabiha argued. “A claim to the throne requires more than a symbol. An heir to the bloodline has the right to arise a king, but only if Immorkaan deems it worthy.”

  “The prince does not wear the stone,” Zaki said pointedly.

  “Does not mean that he is unworthy,” Rauf stated.

  “You place too much faith in the little princeling, brother,” Zaki mocked.

  “He is not a child, Zaki,” Ghasif replied in a rather bored tone.

  “For all we know,” Rauf gave a snicker.

  “If the wearing stone has no merit,” Zaki said airily, “then Princess Layla also has a claim to the Throne. She is currently under the care of her uncle, General Abidan, but upon hearing news of her father, she will return to Khalidah.”

  “She has no claim,” Ghasif denied openly.

  “She is his daughter,” Zaki argued. “Her mother was his first wife. She only needs to prove her worth, as you said.”

  Ghasif gave a ridiculing snort. “How can the Empire be ruled by a woman?”

  “Why not?” Nabiha gave him a scathing glare. “Aghara is ruled by a Queen. Why not Ahul-Hama?”

  “Aghara can do as it pleases,” Ghasif said plainly. “The rule of an empire is unbefitting for a woman The Elder Council will never allow it. The throne will surely fall to Aarguf or Abidan Babak. Only they wear the Sacrament of Sovereignty.”

  “Which will only give rise to bloody feud,” Rauf stated.

  “And the people will pay the price,” Mukhtar said grimly. The thought of Aarguf Babak being crowned king was not as troubling as the thought of seeing his once best friend as the Crowned Prince. It was, however, the least of his concerns as he exchanged a discreet glance with his brother. It felt too premature to cite, but it almost felt as though Aarguf Babak’s secret ploy and pursuit of power was slowly taking a direction desired by the king�
��s elder brother.

  Mukhtar desperately tried to shake off the thought, condemning it to be the result of the devil’s whispers. What gave him any right, to accuse a man of such conspiracy, without an ounce of evidence? He felt shame and guilt when he remembered how Aarguf had stormed the palace to come to their aid. The conviction with which he and his men had battled Ussam’s assassins.

  “And what of the Assassins?” He brought his thoughts back to the room. “Is there talk of besieging Ghuldad?”

  They exchanged grim looks, and Mukhtar narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

  “Immorkaan claims to have no substantial evidence to condemn Ghuldad,” Zaki stated.

  “No evidence?” Mukhtar sputtered, clenching his chest as the pain returned, and Nuzhah reached forward to try and comfort him.

  “Perhaps the reason why the Prince wishes to speak with you,” Zaki replied. “He wants to ascertain for himself.”

  “Why are you all speaking in riddles?” Mukhtar was becoming irritated. “What of all the dead? What of all the bloodshed and destruction within the palace walls? Have they not seen enough of an aftermath?”

  Again they exchanged grim looks, and Mukhtar became even more agitated. “Speak then!” he yelled and contorted in pain.

  “But you have said so yourself,” Rauf told him. “They have only witnessed an aftermath. An aftermath of a destroyed palace, a dying king whose body lay only feet from yours, and the corpses of a wealthy merchant and an exiled General, among most of the King’s viziers and ministers.”

  Mukhtar stared at him with a baffled expression. The rain continued to pound against the window and the shutters rattled when the wind forced itself upon them.

  “Immorkaan claims that Ussam was there to negotiate a treaty with the King,” Nabiha explained. “Until the King awakens, none can revoke this claim, not even Aarguf Babak’s testimony, and the Royal Army will not risk open war without absolute cause.”

  “As the rightful heir, the Prince can—” Ghasif began.

  “This again!” Nabiha scoffed at him. “Fa’iz is not the rightful heir, not until the Elder Council convenes and passes judgment!”

  “But— there must be someone whose voice can be heard?”

  “We do not even know where the council’s allegiances truly lie!”

  Mukhtar allowed his thoughts to wander while they argued amongst themselves. How could this have happened? How much more bloodshed did Immorkaan need, before they realized their call to duty?

  Everything they had fought for thus far, arriving upon the brink of destruction, everything was simply being cast aside by the very institution they had risked their lives to save. He felt disgusted and angered. Did their ignorance and corruption know no bounds?

  His eyes rested on Nuzhah for a while and remained there, lost in thought. She blinked and he averted his gaze. Nabiha was still arguing with Zaki and Ghasif, while Rauf occasionally expressed his own thoughts that were not too far from the general consensus. He pondered over how they had all come to be there, in that very room. Was it fate, as Ma’alim had described?

  Each one from a different background, a remotely different circumstance. How strange it was that Ghasif and Rauf had chosen to escape with him from Ghuldad? He gazed at Nabiha. How strange it was that the very same person who had blackmailed him, armed him with the knowledge to defeat Ussam?

  He turned his gaze back to Nuzhah. It was truly a bizarre set of circumstances, that he had unknowingly rescued her from cutthroat slavers, and it was by her assistance that he had escaped from Ghuldad. That her mere presence at the Royal Palace had guided him to Zaki, Ghasif, and Rauf. Fate, it seemed, was truly intertwined with destiny. As much as he loathed to acknowledge it, Ma’alim’s profound claim was slowly beginning to shed light upon everything that had led him thus far. The death of Hassin, the vengeance upon Ghadan Lahib and Haim Tuma, and the assassination of Ghulam Mirza.

  Nabiha had wished Ghulam dead because she believed he was responsible for enslaving her sister. He looked deep into her eyes, pierced her gaze, and tried to read her thoughts. He remembered how she had abandoned all when she stormed the palace with Aarguf and ran to Nuzhah’s side. There was something here that he had missed, something dire. A murky link of events that had somehow twisted and intertwined itself in his life, guiding and maneuvering everything that had led them thus far.

  He decided to leave it be. There was no sense in wasting thought and energy over aimless presumptions. Had he not already accused and condemned others without any substantial proof? If it was a secret, let it remain a secret until it revealed itself.

  Almost as though they were reading his thoughts, the women exchanged nervous glances, and Nuzhah acknowledged Mukhtar with a soft nod. “Nabiha and I are sisters by birth,” she declared.

  Zaki and Ghasif’s argument ended abruptly, and Rauf gasped. Feeling lightheaded, Mukhtar opted to lay back down. He focused his gaze at the crack on the ceiling, and listened.

  “I was journeying from Aghara to Khalidah with the hopes of visiting Nabiha, my older sister,” Nuzhah said, her eyes were focused on the cup of water by Mukhtar’s bedside. “Our caravan was raided on the road past Din-Galad, and those who survived were taken prisoner.”

  They turned to face Nabiha. “I did not know—” Nabiha started and broke off.

  “Until Ma’alim sent a crude message, revealing to you that Ghulam knew her whereabouts,” Mukhtar completed her sentence. “Ghulam profited from the sale of arms to mercenaries, as well as an acquaintance with several slave traders who helped him move his merchandise. Ghuldad was his largest buyer. Weapons and slaves to build Ussam and Ma’alim’s army. For some reason, Ma’alim was threatened by Ghulam,” again he exchanged a discreet glance with his brother, receiving a stern warning not to disclose too much. “He used us to kill him, and instigated Nabiha, among others,” he recalled the butcher and the guard’s conversation outside the Souk As-Silaah, “if we failed.”

  Ma’alim had indeed been threatened by the Chief of the Souk. He had discovered something, and what he had revealed to Mukhtar with his dying breath, had been true. Had Ghulam secretly served a righteous cause under a cloak of allegiance to the wicked? Mukhtar felt a sudden constriction in his throat and said nothing more, unwilling to dwell on the matter. He did not wish to contend with a revelation that he may have killed an innocent man, if at all Ghulam was innocent.

  Nabiha eyed him cautiously, sensing his burden, and she attempted to divert their thoughts. When she spoke, her gaze turned to her sister and lingered there all the while. “Our father and mother died when we were only children. We lived on the streets. Orphans. Begging and pleading for alms to survive. One day, there was a procession in Imar. King Azhar was visiting Aghara. The festivals spanned the entire road between Imar and Nihar.”

  “Nabiha and I always held hands,” Nuzhah continued, and all eyes turned to her veiled face. “But the King’s advance fomented a riot, and in the chaos, we were separated.”

  “When night fell, I was lost in an unfamiliar part of the city,” Nabiha said. “I was preyed upon by villainous men and ran in search of a place to hide. They chased after me. Close to the city gates, a caravan was being loaded with large baskets. I hid in one of them. They were still searching for me, so I remained still. I was scared. Frightened. Eventually, I fell asleep and did not realize when dawn came. The carts were loaded, baskets piled one atop the other. I was trapped for two days until the caravan arrived at Aztalaan. When they discovered me, they had a quarrel. Some of the guards wanted to sell me at the slave market. Others wanted to have their way with me. Unfortunately for them, it was Huda Babak’s caravan, and when word reached her, she rescued me before I was ruined. She brought me to Khalidah as one of her servants. As a child, I bonded with Princess Layla, and as our friendship and sisterhood grew, so did Huda Babak’s fondness for me. She called me her daughter. She adored me as she did her own.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “Yo
u were raised in the King’s household!” Rauf remarked. “You were raised as Royalty!”

  Zaki wrinkled his nose. “Why does it surprise you?” he spoke with a mild tone of defiance. He had not yet forgiven her for extorting them during Thamir’s feast, and Mukhtar suspected his brother would not relinquish an opportunity to enact his revenge on Kazimi for striking him.

  Nuzhah’s expression was hidden behind her veil, but Mukhtar could see the anger flash in her eyes. Nabiha was slightly rifled, and when she spoke, it was not to retaliate, but rather to shed light on what she saw as Zaki’s ignorance.

  “Royalty only recognizes bloodlines,” she said sternly, exerting every word with clarity, “as it has ever been since the dawn of time,” she glanced at Ghasif. “My ties to the Royal Family only existed for as long as I could see a mother in Huda Babak. I still do, and I forever will. After her death, the King remarried. His new wife gave him a son, Prince Fa’iz. I was not of Azhar Babak’s blood. I did not belong in his house. She refused to have me as a member of her family, branding me as a stain to the Royal Bloodline. She called for my head. Only by solemn oath was I spared.”

  Along with a throb of emotion in his throat, Mukhtar felt subtle spasms of pain searing through his chest, and his head hurt as he tried to process this new knowledge. He also felt a surge of guilt when he remembered how he had taken her for granted, branding her a sinner. He was wrong to have judged her as he did, and he longed to seek her forgiveness but could not bring himself to speak it. “What oath?” he asked instead, exerting as humble a tone as he could, with the hope that his unspoken words will be understood.

  “The King’s oath,” she replied, giving him an empathetic look. “The King’s pledge to his dying wife. He swore not to bring me harm. But she was not there to defend me anymore. His house was torn after her death. He sent Layla and her younger brothers to Aztalaan, under the care of General Abidan. I was exiled from the palace, but he granted me livelihood with Thamir, keeping me within reach. He fulfilled his pledge. To this day, my childhood has remained a secret between my sisters, Layla, Nuzhah, and I.”