The Amulets of Sihr

by Abu Bilaal Yakub

  TWENTY-NINE

  THE LION OF KHALIDAH

  Mukhtar grew ever so restless, confined to his room to recuperate from his injuries. Sheikh Ruwaid had restricted him from venturing any further than the lavatory, until he had fully recovered. He was often visited by friends and family, his most frequent company being Suha, who brought him freshly prepared meals of his favorite foods. They ate and chatted merrily, but whenever Mukhtar was alone, he found himself brooding over uncertain and unknown matters, and one question continued to plague him— what next?

  For months, he had thought of nothing but defeating Ussam Bashiri, and yet, as he lay recovering from the victorious wounds, he could not find peace. He continuously ruminated over Ma’alim’s deception and betrayal, and the true cause of his father and grandfather’s deaths. He tried his utmost not to succumb to retribution or revenge, and struggled with the conviction that sooner or later, the urge would overpower him.

  Coming closer to a full recovery, Prince Fa’iz Babak visited him, escorted by his personal guards and viziers. Upon seeing the entourage, a lengthy discord ensued in the courtyard and the street outside. United, Suha, Fariebah, Mika’il, and Sheikh Ruwaid, confronted the Prince’s viziers and personal guards, denying them admittance. In the end, Prince Fa’iz humbly accepted Suha’s terms, and entered the house with five of his Royal Guard, who were only allowed as far as the courtyard.

  “Lion of Khalidah!” The prince announced himself, entering the room alone with his arms spread open.

  Mukhtar raised a dubious eyebrow. “That is not my title.”

  “Those who have attested to your deeds, have named you thus!” Fa’iz pointed out. “I am afraid you have no choice!” His broad smile exhibited white teeth that complemented his handsome features, glittering green, kohl-lined eyes and aptly trimmed, well-oiled hair and beard. “It is most comforting to see your good recovery, and an honor to make your acquaintance.”

  Mukhtar was not sure whether to acquiesce or rebuke the prince’s claim. He was propped against his pillows, trying his utmost to appear respectful. “The honor is mine,” he gave a welcoming nod, and put on a solemn tone, “How is your father?”

  “Alas, he still lingers beyond revival,” Fa’iz replied gravely. “He shows no signs of life. Does not respond to sight or sound. Yet his heart beats and his lungs draw breath. The healers are perplexed by his condition, and have yet to find a cure.”

  “He has suffered an ordeal far greater than any of us. I pray the Almighty grants him a quickened recovery.”

  “As noble a heart as I have been led to believe, Son of Zafar,” Fa’iz gave him a broad grin. “I wish you the same.”

  Mukhtar acknowledged the compliment with a smile. “How fare the affairs of the Empire? In your father’s absence, who assumes his rule?”

  The Prince’s smile faded. “As per our laws, the Elder Council retains stewardship of the Throne, until the rightful heir is declared.”

  “But you are the heir to the Throne!” Mukhtar argued. “Are you not? Is it not your rightful place—?”

  “To assume his throne,” Fa’iz interrupted, “without abiding by the proper protocols, would injustice my father’s reputation and the laws he has struggled to constitute and uphold for two decades. However, I can assure you, I will do all within my power to restore order, and reign justice upon those who have perpetrated and conspired to dethrone the prosperity of our empire.”

  He spoke with absolutism in his voice. His posture, tone, and facial expressions, all construed authority, and did not at all strike Mukhtar as the pompous, pampered prince he had been led to believe. However, was he prepared to do what was necessary?

  “Forgive my boldness, but I must know,” Mukhtar asserted. “Has the council decided to pursue those responsible?”

  “Who do you suspect is responsible?” Fa’iz asked.

  Zaki was right. He wished to ascertain for himself, and Mukhtar was prepared with an appropriate response.

  “You know, just as well as I, the atrocities that have befallen your father,” he countered. “Have you not seen Ussam’s corpse and the corpses of his dead assassins? Did your uncle not apprehend those who remained alive? How much longer shall we continue to ignore the truth?”

  He had answered the Prince’s question, and made clear his testimony. Fa’iz, however, did not accede nor demur. “The Council of Elders has yet to convene,” he merely altered his former statement, “and decide upon a proper course of action, for there is much to uncover before a decision is made. This hierarchy of governance was put in place by my father, for a reason. To settle such affairs, lest the integrity of this great empire crumbles over a power feud. I am not alone in his succession. There are others, above and before me, those who were chosen by his hand, and have earned the right to wear the Sacrament of Sovereignty. That is the highest honor in the Empire, bestowed only upon those worthy to rule.”

  Mukhtar’s jaw was set, and he tried to conceal his frustration. Perhaps he had misjudged the Prince’s leadership abilities. He too displayed an intimidation to the dictatorship of Immorkaan. How much longer will this conflict endure? When will they realize the perils that lie ahead? Ma’alim commands the might of Ghuldad, and his allegiance with the monstrosity of Arammoria will grant him every opportunity to wage his war. A leaderless Ahul-Hama will surely fall.

  “Mukhtar,” Fa’iz tried to sound reassuring. “Do not trouble yourself with such matters. Rather, seek a hastened recovery. Needless to say, we may yet require your strengths and skills soon enough. Leave unto us the politics of Immorkaan, and have faith that the right course of action will soon be pronounced. Before I take my leave, I have for you a token of my appreciation and gratitude. I may not yet be king, but I do command the respect and influence of the Elder Council. Enough, perhaps, to bring you this.” From within his royal robes of an emerald shade, he pulled out a scroll bearing the King’s seal, and handed it forward. “It is an Order of Immunity, signed by myself and all the members of the Elder Council. It had come to my attention that a given individual foisted injustice upon you by wrongfully possessing your livelihood. Should you accept this, from this hour henceforth, none shall lay claim to your forge.”

  Mukhtar did not reach out a receiving hand. “I cannot accept this.”

  Fa’iz blinked. He had not expected a refusal. But Mukhtar was not declining it for selfish reasons. He did not think himself the rightful owner of the forge, even though it had first been built by his father. After nearly three decades of hard work and dedication, only Mika’il deserved the honor. “With your permission, may I ask that you bequeath the forge to its rightful owner?”

  It took a moment for the prince to understand Mukhtar’s humble plea. “I shall honor your request,” he acknowledged with a nod and a small smile. “As per the state’s scribes, you have always been the rightful inherent of your father’s forge, but as you wish, I shall present it to your uncle on your behalf. I believe a celebration is in order, which brings me to my second gift,” He pocketed the scroll and took a step back. “I wish to host a feast upon my father’s recovery. I humbly extend my invitation to you, and during the feast, I also intend on announcing you as my Personal Adviser. Your courage and selflessness have shown that you are more than capable, and you have therefore earned my respect. It would be an honor to have you by my side.”

  Mukhtar slowly shrunk under the sheer weight of such a tremendous proposal. He felt hot and red around his ears. The prince’s personal adviser? He did not feel competent enough to fulfill such a responsibility.

  Fa’iz seemed to read the uncertainty on his face. “I will be personally offended, were you to decline,” he said.

  Mukhtar hesitated. “Prince Fa’iz, as great an honor as you have bestowed upon me, I am but one among peasants, and cannot fathom to see myself amidst royalty, nor have I the capabilities to toe against politicians and viziers. An empire’s affairs are beyond my knowledge and comprehension. Perhaps such a position is better sui
ted to one who is more capable than I?”

  “You will not be running the empire, if that is what concerns you,” Fa’iz chuckled lightheartedly.

  “Prince Fa’iz, I—”

  “Do I hear excuses?”

  Mukhtar shook his head. “I fear my presence would only give your rivals an excuse to whisper falseness in your absence. It would stir a rebellion against your governance.”

  Fa’iz did not seem surprised by Mukhtar’s statement. “I have given this decision careful thought,” he clarified. “No matter what one does, there will always be something for them to say, for such people always confine themselves in ignorant affairs. I care not what they think or say, if their speech is riddled with malignity. I care only for the people of this nation. Yes, I pursue the throne. I have been groomed for it since I was a child. While the sons of my uncles only ever enjoyed the bounties my father provided, I have struggled to learn and prepare myself for the day I will lead our people into a better tomorrow. That day will come soon, and I know in my heart, that there can be none better by my side, than yourself, for I would sooner accept your simple and sound counsel, over the beguiling wisdoms of what would have been fair leaders of the Empire.”

  “Prince Fa’iz,” Mukhtar argued, “what good would it do, if your opposers, and allies alike, come to learn that you have appointed a common man as your counsel? It would bring ruin to your reputation, and only hinder your path to kingship.”

  “You must not fear for my reputation,” Fa’iz tried to assure him, “and instead look to a much greater purpose. Even if you were to decline as my adviser, your mere presence at the feast will serve a dire political need, and will bear strength for what we need Immorkaan to approbate. During the feast, I will speak of what transpired on the night the palace was attacked. With you by my side, the truth will be known to those who are misguided by false rumors. I implore you to consider these matters.”

  Mukhtar neither acknowledged nor rebuked the prince’s plea, but he was making a statement of his own with silence. He did not wish to have any further involvement with Immorkaan. In truth, he had already thought out his true ambition, and he voiced his notions two days later, when Zaki asked, “What troubles you, little brother?”

  “The feast,” he said simply.

  “As I thought it would,” Zaki placed a tray of food on Mukhtar’s bed, and settled into the stool beside it. “The Prince expressed his concerns before he left. He seemed disappointed.”

  “I care not for the politics of Immorkaan,” Mukhtar reached for the large dish of buttered flatbread, shredded lamb, and a bowl of Humus. The spicy aromas sent overwhelming pangs to his stomach and he helped himself hungrily, joined by his brother. “Every passing day allows Ma’alim to become stronger,” he said after a few mouthfuls and a sip of pomegranate Sherbet, “but the Prince believes in diplomacy before war.”

  “Is that not what he should do?” Zaki asked. “If he were of the other kind, we would already have bloodshed on our hands.”

  “Have we not already?” Mukhtar asked.

  “Only but a taste of it, brother,” Zaki replied grimly. “He is right in pursuing his current course, but I sense a more selfish reason of not accepting his invite.”

  Mukhtar raised an eyebrow, curious as to why his brother was suddenly upholding the prince’s resolutions. “Fa’iz only wanted me to bolster his plea for the crown, and I refuse to be used as a pawn for this ambitions!”

  “And I commend you for it,” Zaki responded calmly. “Fa’iz may be pursuing the crown, but so is every other member of the royal family. The prince is only doing what is right by him. The true blame lies with Immorkaan. In all their glory, they failed to foresee such a tragedy. It is almost a pity to see that Ma’alim did not have to exert much effort to infiltrate the palace, and would have succeeded in his ploys had we not intervened.”

  “Yet they would not hesitate to use others as scapegoats!” Mukhtar said harshly.

  “Shameful, indeed,” Zaki shook his head in disappointment.

  “What would you have me do?” Mukhtar asked, eyeing him cautiously. He knew what Zaki’s response would be, but he also knew that he could not pursue this quest alone.

  “I sense you have already decided.”

  Mukhtar gave a curt nod.

  “I strongly urge you not to!”

  Although expected, Mukhtar still felt slightly abashed at his response. “Says the man who defied all counsel against pursuing Abha,” he countered.

  “And I would defy them all again, were there even a glimpse of him still alive.” There was no denying the sorrow in Zaki’s voice. Mukhtar had told him of Ma’alim’s claim, and the death of their father at his hands. It had taken several days for Zaki to fully accept the bitter truth and make peace with himself. “I have come to realize my grave mistakes. Living so far away for so long, from you and Ummi, from Khal and Khala, I have come to regret the foolish decisions I made.”

  Mukhtar felt a forlorn ache at Zaki’s humble and sincere pleas. “But I must,” he argued, urging his brother to understand why, “and I cannot do it alone. I need you, Zaki. I need my brother!”

  Zaki shook his head without looking at him. “I can no longer bear to see the despair in Ummi’s eyes,” he said. “Since my return, she has constantly been on edge, afraid that I might leave her again. Our mother is all we have, Mukhtar. I cannot bear to bring her grief. I do not ever want to. I have done enough.”

  Mukhtar’s eyes narrowed. “What are you not telling me, Zaki?”

  Zaki shrugged indifferently.

  “Zaki!” Mukhtar’s tone became stern. “Come clean with me. Dare we leave secrets between us that will one day destroy our bond. Dare that happen before Ummi’s eyes. It will surely destroy her.”

  Zaki bit his lip. “The Prince has offered me pardon!”

  Mukhtar threw his arms in protest.

  “Listen to me, Mukhtar!” Zaki said sternly. “I took his pardon because it forgives my desertion. I no longer owe an oath to the Red-Guard. This is my redemption and I gladly accept if it will reunite me with my kin. This is my chance to finally be the son Ummi has always wanted of me. I understand your need, little brother, but I urge to understand mine also.”

  Mukhtar eyed him intently, trying to show empathy rather than disappointment. “I understand,” he finally said. “I know now, I must journey alone.”

  Zaki nodded solemnly, reached forward, and laid his hand atop Mukhtar’s affectionately.

  “Then you must strengthen Ummi,” Mukhtar asserted, battling the urge to give in to his emotions. It almost felt like his brother was bidding him grim farewell. “Until my return.”

  Zaki gave him a long, hard stare, gazing at him with the fondness of brotherhood. “I understand,” he then said. “You do what you must. I will share your burdens and fortify your resolution. Indeed, there is little else left for you here,” he added thoughtfully, “between a feud for the throne, Immorkaan’s corrupt politics, and Ma’alim’s vile ambitions, something must be done, and can only be done beyond the boundaries of the law.”

  Zaki’s advice could not have been sounder, and they spent the remainder of the evening discussing politics. He was pleased to have Zaki by his side. The brothers were clear on the path ahead. Yet, a distant troubling thought continued to nag him— what if he left, and they were wrong?

  This thought continued to trouble him, up until his bandages were removed, and Sheikh Ruwaid declared him healed. Leaving home would not burden him, for Zaki would care for Suha, and Mika’il would provide for them through the forge. His departure, however, would raise even more questions.

  Why did he leave? What, and why, was he hiding? He did not intend to hide, but instead pursue his father’s treacherous quest— the Amulets of Sihr, and their true purpose on this side of the Unseen Veil. Understanding this, he felt, was the only way of destroying Ma’alim and his schemes to unleash his wicked ideologies.

  Despite numerous attempts to call for her, Adva rema
ined unresponsive. Zaki had secretly taken away the Blue Amulet from him when they stormed into the Throne Room, and only returned it after Mukhtar gained consciousness, but it only hung around his neck, as lifeless as it could ever be. Mukhtar had tried speaking to it, whispering Adva’s name when he was alone, even occasionally rubbing it as one would rub an oil lamp from a fabled tale, but his efforts bore no fruit. The dread did not leave him. Had she perhaps died in the battle with Ussam, when Azufil’s blade pierced him? And if it were true, then did it mean that the Eye of Hurus could no longer be opened?

  Somehow, Mukhtar doubted that a Jinn as powerful as Adva could so easily be killed. Then again, he did not know enough about sorcery to be certain. Regardless of what may have transpired, he did not feel satisfied leaving the Amulet behind, and allowed it to remain around his neck. Even if it was no longer of any use to him, it had belonged to his father, and was one of the few remnants of his memory.

  He had polished his short-swords for almost two hours on the eve of his departure. He admired them despite their poor state. They had been cleaned and oiled, but the jagged edges remained. He eyed the silver blades for a long while, recalling his furious battles with the demons and the Jinn Azufil, as well as Abunaki and all the assassins and mercenaries who had fallen to the otherworldly weapons. Carefully, he sheathed and packed them along with whatever else he thought he could carry with him, including some throwing-knives, a spare thaub, trousers, and a shirt.

  Zaki had brought him some food for the journey, which he packed along with a goatskin water-bag. The brothers had agreed on a nightly departure. Mukhtar would leave at midnight, allowing him enough time to reach their grandfather’s cabin unobstructed, where he would rest for the day and leave Khalidah under cover of darkness the following evening. Meanwhile, Zaki would remain behind and cover his tracks. Already he had prepared the cabin for his accommodation, and saddled Bisrah for the journey.