Sheikh Ruwaid arrived after dusk to inspect his wounds. Mukhtar remained silent for a long while, until he could no longer hold back the questions.
“I must ask you something, Sheikh Ruwaid,” he said.
“Ask away, Mukhtar,” Sheikh Ruwaid gave him a welcoming smile. “Or shall I call you, Lion of Khalidah?”
Mukhtar gave him a disgruntled look.
Sheikh Ruwaid chuckled. “Ask away.”
“Nuzhah—” he began but hesitated, unsure of how to phrase his thoughts.
“Ah, yes,” Sheikh Ruwaid understood immediately, “she did indeed approach me with her concerns.”
“Can anything be done?”
Sheikh Ruwaid shrugged indecisively. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I could not sense any Jinn presence about her. Perhaps your intervention severed Ma’alim’s vile incantations on her. Perhaps it is dormant, awaiting a vulnerability in her faith. Whatever the case, I have reason to believe that her trials will soon come. It would be unwise to further involve her in such matters. Let her faith flourish and strengthen her from within.”
Mukhtar gave an acknowledging nod. “What of the rituals in the Throne Room?”
There was a brief glint of fascination in Sheikh Ruwaid’s eyes. “The Ritual of Zar,” he said, “from the ancient Kingdom of Zarzara. A most illicit form of sorcery, meant to revive and awaken a dormant, or otherwise bound Jinn, so long as no other enchantments exist. They are detrimental. Life-threateningly dangerous. Abuzahil must truly have been desperate.”
Mukhtar’s expression was puzzled.
“You did not think ‘Ma’alim’ was his name, did you?” Sheikh Ruwaid affirmed. “Yes. Abuzahil is his true name. One that very few know.”
Mukhtar nodded slowly. “Yes, he was very desperate. He admitted so.”
“It is no simple task to enslave an elemental Jinn,” Sheikh Ruwaid continued. “In the case of Agni, the Ifreet of Fire bound to the King’s Amulet, Abuzahil required a large host of willful participants, which as disconcerting as it is to acknowledge, were available to him in plenty. With song and dance, intoxication and adultery, they praised and chanted the names of unholy beings, declaring their unfaithfulness to the Almighty, and professing the worship of Azazil and his Throne of Ithm.”
“Is that how the demons materialized?” Mukhtar asked.
“The demons who attacked you in the Throne Room?” Sheikh Ruwaid eyed him. “Perhaps. I was able to study one of them, before the bodies were burned. They are vile breeds of two most heinous and monstrous kinds of Jinn. The Nasnas and Udhrut.”
Mukhtar did not know what an Udhrut or Nasnas was, but his encounter with the demonic beings was enough to deduce their monstrosity.
“Ma’alim claimed that Ussam was his illegitimate son,” he said, “that a Jinn named Azufil had occupied his body and soul.”
Again, there was a distinct glint of fascination in Sheikh Ruwaid’s eye. “Abuzahil has had many illegitimate sons and daughters,” he said, and Mukhtar raised his eyebrows. “An infant child is his most favored way of pleasing powerful and evil Jinn, from whom he draws sorcery. He did not care if his son were possessed. His only desire has always been power, and he did unto his son what he was doing to the King, and would eventually do unto you. Your swords killed both his son and his Jinn,” he lowered his voice to a bare whisper, “cling dearly to those blades, Mukhtar. Their craft is beyond the Unseen Veil, and are two of the only armaments that can truly kill a Jinn.”
Mukhtar stared at him for a long while before averting his gaze and focusing on the crack in the ceiling. Sheikh Ruwaid continued to remove his bandages and clean the remnants of spent medicine off his healed wounds.
“I know that look,” he said, drawing Mukhtar from his thoughts.
“Ask not, for I wish not to lie to you,” Mukhtar stated.
“Alas, the troubles of youth, to mention but a few,” Sheikh Ruwaid stated. “I can almost recall my own days. How confusing I found my path. How disconcerting it was to distinguish fate from destiny. I was ambitious. I was energetic. I did much, but somehow, after all these years, I have achieved very little.”
Mukhtar almost laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Fair enough,” Sheikh Ruwaid gave a lighthearted chuckle. “What if I were to offer you counsel?”
“I have found your words to be as kind and comforting as they are perplexing,” Mukhtar answered.
“Only if you choose to be perplexed,” Sheikh Ruwaid eyed him thoughtfully and cleared his throat. “Years ago, before your father’s unfortunate imprisonment and disappearance thereafter, he came to me for assistance. An honorable man he was, married with two children. But troubled. Very troubled. Perhaps more than I could have predicted of him. He begged my help in a field of study I was unfortunately well known for, just as I am to this day,” he gave a heavy sigh. “He spoke of Jinn and Demons. Of artifacts and amulets. Of keys and doors. Of betrayals and regrets. He regretted many things, and he sought absolution from his sins. He cried before me, poured his feelings. Alas, I could do very little to ease his burden.”
There was sorrow in Sheikh Ruwaid’s eyes, and Mukhtar understood. “You persuaded him to abandon his quest.”
“I tried,” Sheikh Ruwaid nodded and sighed again, “but failed. And I have lived with that regret, for I had vowed never to abandon a troubled soul. I have always been saddened by seeing others walk the same path as I once did, concerning themselves with otherworldly matters. They embrace the occult with delusions of ascension, of becoming the Masters, the Rulers, the Kings and the Lords. What they fail to understand, is that certain things in this world are simply beyond our control, and no matter how much we believe ourselves to be the masters, we are but slaves on this earth. Our freedom, our true ascension lies in our abilities to seek and comprehend the purpose of our existence. You must ask yourself, what is your true purpose? Who are you, and what do you want? Our choices in life define who we are. Our destinies are those which we shape for ourselves. What has to happen, will happen, but how it happens is governed by our own thoughts and intentions. Always remember this though, in your quest to save the world, be careful you do not destroy yourself. Every action, every step we take has a consequence. Of sin and deed, we will pay and be paid, in this life and in the hereafter. Always remember that, Mukhtar Harun Zafar.”
Sheikh Ruwaid bade him farewell, and left him to his thoughts. He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling for a long while before falling asleep, waking close to the midnight hour to begin his journey. He dropped his bag into the alley below his window, climbed over the sill, and lowered himself with ease, stealthily scaling down the rough stone using footholds and handholds in the wall.
An hour later, he trekked through the mild shrubbery surrounding the cabin, and crossed over its threshold, stepping on to the creaking floorboards of the porch. Bisrah was tied to the railing, helping himself to a water trough and a mound of hay.
The cabin’s door had been reattached to its hinges, well-oiled and unlocked. Once inside, he dropped his bag by the door, groped around the dark for an oil-lamp, and lit it to bring light into the tiny room.
A slight dampness hung in the air, but aside from that, everything had been neatly organized, clean and tidy. The bed had been restored and the sheets changed. All the books and scrolls lay in neat piles against the opposite wall, and the floor had been swept and scrubbed. Exhausted and laden with sleep, he shut the door and opened the window to bring in fresh air, then took off his sandals, got into the bed and shut his eyes, falling almost immediately into a deep sleep.
He rose late the following morning, feeling far more rested than he had for several days. Sunlight crept through the open window. A lazy breeze carried with it the chirping of birds and the scent of the forest. He wanted nothing but to lay there in serenity. Eventually, he forced himself up, washed, and after a good breakfast of flatbread and hummus, he began scrolling through all the books and parchments in the cabin, hoping to find someth
ing that would ease his quest. Much to his disappointment, however, nothing substantial surfaced, at least nothing he had not already discovered from the very same sources. After several hours of frustration, he sat back on the bed, and gave a small sniff.
Something crept up his nostrils, triggering his sense of smell, bringing back a memory. He sniffed some more, tracing its source to the trunk at the foot of the bed. Inside, wrapped in a ragged cloth, was a black, tattered, leather-bound book, reeking a strong, disgusting stench of rotting eggs. The Book of Kufr.
He spent a considerable amount of time flipping through every page, trying everything he could think of, including using the flame of a candle to force it into revealing something, but it simply refused to yield.
A tiny scroll had been squeezed into the binding of the book for safekeeping. It was the same scroll that had been handed to him with the Blue Amulet. The frayed string he had undone so many months ago, hung loosely around it. After eyeing it for a long while, he stored both the book and the scroll into his bag. Their usefulness might unravel upon his arrival at Uduff.
Dusk was approaching briskly, and he was running short of time. Looking through the cabin had taken the entire day, and he was just about to prepare for his journey, when someone walked in through the door behind him. He froze and cursed himself when he remembered leaving his swords by the side of the door.
“I thought I might find you here.”
He recognized the voice and turned around. “Why are you here?”
Nuzhah was wearing long robes of a maroon shade, with a matching scarf and an elegant veil to adorn. Her shoulders were deliberately hunched, her head slightly inclined with a gaze that was warm and benign. Very unlike her sister, she was. In nearly every aspect.
“Might I ask the same?” She raised an eyebrow. Her eyes were attractively lined with kohl, deeply captivating and alluring in every way. “Everyone is looking for you.”
“How did you know to find me here?” he asked. “I told no one, but Zaki.”
“I asked no one,” she replied, affirming the anomalous bond efflorescing since the day he freed her. “Your mother told me about your grandfather’s cabin, and how you always came here to be alone. I could think of no other place that would bring you solitude.”
Mukhtar looked away from her, busying himself with arranging all the books back into their neat stacks. He knew why she was there.
“Why are you so troubled, Mukhtar?” she asked kindly.
He hesitated.
“Is it so vital you pursue this course? Have you not seen enough, endured enough?”
So she knew. Or she had ventured a guess. He turned around sharply. “After all you have seen, how can you say that?”
“I have seen too much,” she said bitterly.
“Then you know why I must leave,” he said. “This tyranny must end. The oppression must end. A dark force gathers in the wastelands, and mankind rests upon the brink of destruction. I cannot allow it to endure.”
“No!” she remarked. “You believe this to be your destiny, but it is not! This is madness! It is a fool’s ambition! Your responsibility is to your kin. To those who love and care about you!”
Her voice trembled when she spoke the last few words, and Mukhtar suddenly understood. What he had felt before was not unparalleled. The memories of her tending to his wounds, bringing him food, kindling his hope when all else had abandoned him, and as much as his heart desired it, he knew that it was just not possible. Not upon the path that lay ahead.
“Nuzhah,” he spoke in a kinder voice, reminiscing Sheikh Ruwaid’s grave warning, “I urge you to understand. The sins of my fathers have followed me through the years, gnawing at me from beyond their graves. They have burdened me with a terrifying purpose. And where this path leads, you cannot follow. I have lived with the grief of losing my father for many years. Hassin, my friend, my brother, died because of I. Because of my foolishness and inability to do what was necessary. I cannot bear such grief anymore. I must end this, once and for all.”
“I share your grief, Mukhtar,” she asserted. “I sympathize the sorrow in your heart. Those before us, attest for the choices they made. Their actions were their own. Do you not see? Their burdens are not yours to bear. Their deaths were not by your doing, but by the will of the Almighty. They will be judged by what they did, and you will be judged by yours.”
In all the time he had known her, she had not once faltered from her righteousness. Ever had she clung to her faith. Ever had her innocence overpowered him. However, there was much she did not yet fully understand. There was more to it than mere faith.
“There is truth in what you say,” he urged her, “but I will also be judged if do nothing. If there is but a chance for me to redeem my father’s worth, respect, dignity, integrity, and all the good he did, then I have an obligation by divine rule to seek it. Need I sacrifice my own life to do so.”
Her head shook briskly. Behind her veil, her eyes began to show signs of weakness. “I assure you Mukhtar, it is not so. Your obligation is to those among your kin. Those whose bond is true to your heart and soul.”
Mukhtar sighed deeply. “I understand your plea,” he said. “Believe me, I have struggled with these thoughts time and again, and I know that this struggle will continue endlessly. It pains me, believe me, it pains me deeply. We did indeed share a bond, even if it remained unknown to us. But upon the path I now walk, fate will never allow this bond to endure. In those fluttering moments, in those troubled times, whatever we felt deep inside, was just a dream. A faltering dream. Nothing more. In truth, I cannot give you what your heart desires.”
He avoided looking into her eyes. He did not want to, could not bear to, afraid that they might weaken him. She held up a henna-adorned hand and unclasped the knot of her veil, removing it to reveal her face.
“What is the meaning of this?” He stared at her, astounded. “Why do you unveil yourself?”
“You have seen my face before,” her voice shook, her porcelain skin slightly blushed. “I want you to look upon me once more as you push me away!”
Mukhtar’s heart sunk. He knew, understood the sanctity behind which a pious woman would veil herself. If Nuzhah had chosen to show her face, he knew deep down, she would never do so for anyone else. He sighed deeply and moved a step closer to her. Closer than he had ever been. He could have felt her warmth from where he stood, and he breathed in her scent, her flowery aura of lavender. It sent shivers up his spine and made his heart beat faster. Her face was glowing, her full lips trembled slightly, and her scarf fluttered in the slender breeze.
He gazed into her eyes. Her brown, almond-shaped eyes. She was an image of perfection. Would she have smiled, the world would smile with her. Would she have laughed, the world would laugh with her. But at the sight of her tears, Mukhtar became helpless and forlorn. It truly pained him, but he was right— where he was headed, she could not come. It was inevitable. She deserved more than a bedeviled son of a condemned bloodline. She deserved all the happiness in the world. She was elegant in her ethics, he was unpolished. She was flawless in her character, he was scarred. She was gifted and he was cursed.
“There comes a time when everyone has to make a choice,” he tried to keep his voice from trembling, tried to keep the jolt of emotion in his throat contained. “A bitter and painful choice. For those we truly care, such a pain must be endured. It is in such moments, when a person’s true nature is unveiled, their honor, their dignity, and nobility. A noble heart will always thrive, no matter how much it is suppressed, for its nobility lies in its virtue, its righteousness, and affection. Yours is a noble heart, Nuzhah, daughter of Altaf, and may it forever be filled with the benevolence and grace you have always shown me. You stood by me when no other did, and for that, I will forever remain in your debt. I wish we could have been, as we desired to be. I wish to have been the one, to enlighten your world, as you have always enlightened mine. I am bound to a resolute purpose, and on this path, my most t
asking endeavor will be to lose you to a memory. But I will always adore you. I will always cherish you. Do not forget me, for I will never forget you.”
She broke. Tears like pearls trickled down her smooth skin, her eyes filled with sorrow. He longed to reach out and embrace her, feel her warmth, place his hand upon her head and draw her closer into his arms. He fought the temptation with all his inner strength, crossed the room, picked up his leather bag and short-swords, and walked out of the cabin into the fresh air, where the sounds of nature masked away her soft sobs. He undid Bisrah’s reins and guided his brother’s steed along.
Painfully, he walked on. His purpose was true and firm, and where he was bound, she could not follow, for he would rather suffer an emotional pain that would fade away with time, than bear the grief of bringing her closer to harm, only to satisfy his own selfish desires.
Hanging from the chain around his neck, the Amulet pressed on his chest and gave a subtle, almost ephemeral throb, masked by his saddened heart.
He suppressed a sniff as he hiked down the narrow pathway that took him away from his heart’s desire, away from the cabin, away from the tiny village, and would eventually take him away from the very sights of the Immortal City.
GLOSSARY
Abaya [aa.baa.yaa]; Cloak for women
Abha [aa.bhaa]; Father
Abu [aa.boo]; Father of
Bakhoor [baa.kkh.oor]; Scented wood
Banu [baa.noo]; Descendants of
Bin [bin]; Son of
Bint [bint]; Daughter of
Falafel [faa.laa.fel]; Fritters of chickpea wrapped in pita
Hashish [haa.shsh.eesh]; An extract of the cannabis plant
Hukah [hoo.kaah]; Traditional tobacco pipe and vial
Hummus [hoo.moos]; A creamy dip made from chickpeas
Ibn [ee.b.n]; Grandson or great-grandson of
Kaymak [kaay.maak]; A creamy, buttery dairy product
Khal [kkh.aal]; Maternal uncle
Khala [kkh.aa.laa]; Maternal aunt
The Amulets of Sihr Page 40