“How much for the medallion?”
The raspy voice hit them like a boulder shattering the calm of the lake. Hoda and Karadon exchanged a quick smile, then eyed the man who had just spoken. Look at his clothes, thought Hoda, how outlandish. Most definitely a foreigner. The stranger wore silk trousers, black boots reaching mid-thigh, a baggy red shirt, a white turban, and a thick, gray cloak. He had just addressed her brother, and his accent was so thick she could barely make out his words.
Seeing her react so calmly, the outsider staggered. Impossible, he thought. The spell is not working.
“Excuse me, sir,” interjected Hoda. “May I help you?”
He looked Hoda in the eye and asked with a gentle voice if Ahiram was her brother. Confused, she nodded.
Good, the spell of enchantment is working after all, he thought.
“Your brother,” he whispered, “is wearing a medallion.” And with snakelike speed pulled it from under Ahiram’s shirt.
“This medallion,” he said with a quiver in his voice, “I would like to purchase it. Name your price.”
“How did you know I had it on?” snapped Ahiram, his voice shaking with anger. “I haven’t told anyone.”
“I saw the chain on your neck,” lied the stranger. “Besides, what does it matter? I want to buy it from you. Name your price.”
Hoda felt a powerful surge of emotion engulf her like a crashing wave. Her will began to waver when Ahiram’s voice, hard as steel, cut through the confusion:
“It is not for sale.” The man’s attention went back to the young boy.
“Come now, young man,” he said softly, “I am prepared to offer you two pieces of gold.” The emotional surge came back, and Hoda struggled to contain her feelings; feelings that did not capture her heart but seemed intent on forcing themselves upon her will.
Ahiram was speechless. The medallion had a dull, dark-gray appearance with a plain surface, and a thick, outer ring where a small, black peg protruded. It looked and felt like a trinket parents buy for their children. A shark fisherman might earn two gold coins after six months of hard work, and for a port worker two years.
“Thank you, sir,” he replied calmly, “it is a generous offer, but I cannot sell it. It is a gift from my mother.”
Impossible, how can this boy resist my spell? The stranger could not have known that the moment his powerful Control Spell reached Ahiram, it was met by the boy’s temper. The two forces clashed and had quickly reached a stalemate; the spell became a soothing balm over Ahiram’s fiery temper, leaving the young boy free to think clearly.
I can control my temper, Ahiram thought to himself. Hoda was right.
“I offer you twelve pieces of gold,” said the stranger with mounting frustration.
“Thank you, sir,” said Ahiram reveling in patience he never knew he had, “but a mother’s gift cannot be sold for all the gold in the world.”
“Incredible,” muttered the man, “how are you…” He shook his head and yelled, “Are you slow? I am offering you twelve gold coins for a simple medallion.”
“If it is so simple, why do you offer me this much money?” retorted Ahiram calmly.
Had their faces been any closer, their noses would have touched. “It is for my daughter. She likes medallions,” countered the stranger.
“Well, this is one medallion your daughter will not have,” cut in Ahiram sharply. “Would you like some shark meat instead?”
Karadon laughed. The enchantment was definitely broken.
Mortified, the man lifted his hand to strike the insolent boy, but Karadon stayed his arm, saying in a casual voice, “Careful, High Riders are behind you.”
The man snatched his arm away. “I am not done with you,” he snapped at Ahiram before disappearing into the crowd.
“What was all that about?” exclaimed Syreen, looking intently at the medallion. Quickly, Ahiram slid it back under his shirt.
“I don’t know,” replied Hoda. “Mother gave my brother this medallion at birth to ward off the evil eye.”
“Well, no harm was done,” replied Karadon smiling. Hoda met his gaze and felt her heart explode. Inwardly, she chided herself, You’re being silly, Hoda, focus. She noticed her brother looking at her, and she knew instantly what his question was: “Did I do well?” She smiled, and that smile was all that he needed.
“Why don’t you go run on the beach now?” she suggested. “You earned it.”
“But the booth— I must help you clean up.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take care of it.”
“And Karadon and I will give your sister a hand,” added Syreen, grinning. For a split second, Ahiram thought the grin meant she was about to take revenge because of the spiders.
“Go on now,” said Hoda. “Don’t worry, I will take care of the booth.”
“I know how to scrub,” said Karadon. “I am a very good scrubber. I mean, I can scrub this entire plaza and all the adjoining rooms. No wait— this is absurd, there are no adjoining rooms here. What I am trying to say is that I could scrub anything else that needs scrubbing: your house, if you’d like me to, or, well, actually, your house’s door, or the entrance to your door, or…”
Syreen handed him a brush.
“Scrub, then. Hoda, do you realize that Karadon has uttered more words now than he has ever said to me since we were children?”
Hoda’s heart skipped a beat, and she kissed her brother to hide her red cheeks. He sprinted toward the beach. “Don’t be late for supper,” she said, but he was already gone.
“Syreen, I am certain you’re exaggerating,” she said, glancing at Karadon who had rolled up his sleeves. Good, not too hairy, she thought, satisfied.
“Not at all,” replied Syreen enjoying herself, “this is the plain truth.”
“But I am sure you two must have had long conversations,” protested Hoda, wishing she had been there.
Karadon did not reply, but his scrubbing accelerated.
“Oh no,” said Syreen, “I had long monologues. He, on the other hand, had long grunts.”
“Grunts?” replied Hoda “Really?”
If Karadon scrubbed any faster, he would have lit the table on fire.
“Isn’t it so, Karadon?” asked Syreen with an innocent voice.
Involuntarily, he grunted. The two girls burst out laughing. Karadon stopped, wiped his brow and joined them.
The booth had three tables and a light, linen tarp to shade them from the sun. Having cleaned all the buckets, the tables, and the two chairs, they stowed the utensils in a wooden box under the main table and walked toward the shore.
“So, Ahiram has a hot temper?” asked Syreen casually.
“You noticed, didn’t you?” replied Hoda. “You were always the perceptive one. My parents are at their wits’ end, and I…” she stopped, and she, who was ordinarily so strong, could barely contain her tears. Syreen squeezed her shoulder. Karadon simply listened.
“I am scared, Syreen. I don’t know what to do. I feel I am losing him. He is trying so hard, but it seems he is unable to contain this… dark rage. I don’t know what it is… It scares me.”
Karadon and Syreen exchanged a long glance but said nothing. Then Karadon lifted Hoda’s spirits by recounting his voyage to the Land of the Marada. He spoke quickly, using short sentences punctuated by long grunts.
“Amazing,” said Hoda, after he was done. “Traveling like that must have been expensive. How did you afford it, I wonder?” Inwardly, she was already expecting him to tell her that he was the son of a rich man, which would put an end to any romantic ideas she may have had.
“I was on the crew of a wealthy carpet merchant during the journey. He and his wife were very generous, and they took good care of us.”
“I see,” said Hoda, happy. She started to smile but thought it would be unbecoming and ended up with a smirk.
“We must be on our way, Hoda,” said Syreen. She hugged her friend and whispered, “I will come and see
you next week at the market. I promise.” Hoda nodded but said nothing.
“Goodbye, Hoda, it was very nice to scrub the plaza with you… I mean, it was nice to meet you,” said Karadon blushing.
She nodded, “You’re definitely a good scrubber.”
What am I saying? she thought, and quickly ran down Sunset Street.
A week later, Hoda was back at the market with a fresh batch of shark steak, a delicacy only the well-to-do could afford. To avoid angering Yem, the god of the sea, Bahiya, the high priestess, had commanded the fishermen not to exceed five hundred sharks each season. Even though Baal forbade the cult of Yem, the priestess showed her respects to Yem in order to protect the villagers from his wrath. According to the fishermen, Yem prowled the coast as a huge double-finned shark, a shark no one ever landed. Supposedly, shark meat granted those who ate it the strength of the beast and protection during travel. The cynics contended that the priestess used the meat as bait to exact favors from the wealthy. Others, more business minded, saw an opportunity, and an underground market quietly flourished in Byblos. There, eager travelers bought morsels of dried shark meat, paying fivefold the price for fresh meat.
The sale of shark meat in Byblos was strictly controlled, requiring express permission from the high priestess and Jabbar—Hoda and Ahiram’s father—was one of the few chosen ones to receive Bahiya’s approval. Still, he knew his fellow villagers very well, and, as such, contributed more than his fair share to the common purse. “You can get rich alone,” he told his children, “or you can be rich with friends and family. Choose wisely.”
“Hoda.”
She had just finished setting up her booth, looked up and smiled when she saw Syreen, but her smile turned into veiled disappointment when she did not see Karadon.
“My cousin sends his greetings,” said her friend with a sheepish smile. “He wanted to come with me, you know, for the shark meat, and just in case there was a bit more scrubbing to do, but he had to go out of town. He will be back next week.” Hoda nodded. Her friend continued, “I can’t stay for very long, and this is not the right place to talk. Could you come over after hours for a short visit?”
“I would love to, Syreen, but Ahiram is punished again. He got into a terrible fight and I am—”
“It is about your brother,” cut in Syreen. “I have news. Please come.” Hoda held her breath and looked at her friend who read her anguish. “I think we found a way to help him. I will tell you later.”
“Who’s we?” asked Hoda, confused.
Syreen cocked her head and gave her friend a reproachful gaze, “Karadon and I, silly. Who else?”
Hoda felt a wave of gratitude surge from within. She was relieved, relieved that she did not have to carry that weight alone. Ever since he was a baby, Ahiram had given Hoda his best smiles and his most tender coos, and when he became a toddler, she gave him a doll Syreen had made for her: a goat with two tiny bells. Immediately, he named it “Doda,” and he and Doda became inseparable for years.
When Ahiram turned eight, the nightmares began, and he would run to Hoda crying. Then came the bad temper and the stormy rage and the brawls that became more frequent. It broke Hoda’s heart to see him tormented, and she did everything in her power to ease his pain and protect him. Then, Arfaad, the captain of the High Riders, told her father that unless Ahiram learned to control his temper, he might end up dead in a dark alley one day. His words sent a chill to her heart.
Hoda could hardly wait for the market to close. Finally, after cleaning and closing the booth, she hastened to Syreen’s house. Leaving the main thoroughfare, she went to Astarte Street, and just as she was about to cross Melkart Street, she saw the stranger who had wanted to buy Ahiram’s medallion. He was leaning against the wall across the street. As soon as their eyes met, he started walking toward her. Entranced, she watched him get closer, unable to move, when a bucketful of cold water fell on the man, drenching him. They both looked up and saw only deserted balconies. Not waiting, Hoda ran. What’s wrong with me? she wondered. What is that man doing to me?
Hoda sped through the busy roads of Byblos, zigzagging through a series of narrow streets until she reached the back alley behind Syreen’s house. She knocked at a narrow, low door and was relieved to see her friend. This was the back door to Syreen’s parents’ expansive and expensive home, the door the two girls preferred to the ornate, marble front entrance.
“Hoda, are you alright? Did you run?”
“Yes,” said the young woman breathlessly, “I ran into the man who wanted to buy Ahiram’s medallion as I was crossing Melkart Street.”
“How did he know you were coming this way?” asked Syreen after taking a quick peek into the alley; it was deserted.
“I don’t know. And the way he looked at me…” she shivered.
“Come, I have hot tea steeping in my room. Let’s sit and talk like we used to do when we were little.”
Hoda smiled and followed her friend to her large bedroom, where they sat on a sea of brightly colored pillows surrounded by a cheerful collection of dolls.
“I love these,” said Hoda, admiring her friend’s handiwork. “They are beautiful, Syreen. You know, Ahiram had your Doda for two full years before he lost it in the sea. It was as if he had lost…”
“You?” completed Syreen. “Hoda, I know how much you care for him, and I am here to help.”
“Thank you, Syreen,” replied Hoda. “I really do think your dolls are amazing. You are so talented.”
“Hoda, all that is mine is yours, but customers must purchase them from Master Kwadil. He is my exclusive distributor.”
“Master Kwadil—wait, what? Kwadil? The Kwadil from the world famous ‘Caravan from Beyond’? Are you serious?”
“Actually, I am. I needed silk cloth, and he had the best silk money could buy. He asked me what I would do with it, and I showed him my dolls. He told me to make as many as I could and that he would buy them all.”
“Wonderful. It means you can retire from the Temple and run your own shop.”
“It’s a possibility,” Syreen replied evasively. “Now listen, about that man—I felt it too.”
“That weird feeling? Like someone roping your emotions and pulling you to him, even though you really don’t want to go that way?”
“You are perceptive, Hoda. It is an Enchantment Spell,” explained Syreen calmly.
Hoda gasped. “An Enchantment Spell? How did you find out?”
Syreen smiled. “Hoda, as a maid to the first priestess, I received basic training in the detection of simple spells. You would not believe the number of people willing to risk their lives to sway or charm the first priestess.”
“Why the first priestess?” asked Hoda, whose curiosity got the better of her. “Why not the high priestess?”
Fear shot through Syreen’s eyes. “Bahiya? No one would dare use an Enchantment Spell on her; she is too powerful.”
“So this man, he was…”
“Yes, using a spell. He wants your brother’s medallion at all cost.”
Hoda looked at her, alarmed.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” said Syreen, choosing her words carefully, “that he tried to buy it from your brother and failed. Next, he will try to enchant you into bringing him the medallion, and if all else fails, he will try to steal it by any means necessary.”
“What?” said Hoda, scared. “But why? What is going on?”
“You’re not going to like what I have to say. Still, I think it is good news… of sorts.”
“Syreen, please tell me. What did you find out?”
“Promise me you will tell no one. You cannot share what I am about to tell you with anyone: not with Ahiram, not with your parents, nor anyone else.”
“I promise,” she said breathless. “Now, please tell me.”
“Hoda, this medallion is… well, it may be a magical artifact.”
“What?” exclaimed Hoda. Blood drained from her face. She stood
up and backed away from her friend.
Syreen went to her, held her hand, and looked her in the eyes. “I know what you are thinking, Hoda, but I am your friend. If I wanted to alert the Temple, you and your family would be dead by now.”
“Why didn’t you?” asked Hoda, still panicked. “You work for the Temple, and we were all told, ever since we were little, that whenever we find someone with a magical artifact, we had to tell the Temple. You are risking your life and your family for us. Why?”
“I have my reasons, Hoda. You said it yourself; I work for the Temple and have access to the first priestess.” Syreen repeated slowly, “If I wanted to let the Temple know, I would have done so already.” At that, Hoda relaxed her stance somewhat.
“Hoda, please hear me, then decide whether you should trust me or not. As I said, Hoda, it is a possibility. We are not certain, but there is a very easy way to check. Tonight, when Ahiram is sleeping, take the medallion off of him. If the medallion is not magical, nothing will happen.”
“And if it is, what would happen?”
“Well, we are not certain,” continued Syreen. She hated this conversation and the pain she was causing her friend, but it could not be helped. “You might see improvement in Ahiram’s behavior or…”
“Or what?”
“Well, we are not sure. Look, wait for Ahiram to fall asleep, then take the medallion from him.”
“Why not ask him to let me have his medallion for the night? Ahiram would do anything for me.”
“That’s the thing. We need you to take it from him without his consent. If the medallion is a magical artifact, it will cause a reaction.”
“Will Ahiram be harmed?”
“We don’t think so because the medallion would still be close.”
Hoda shivered. “So, if Ahiram consented to sell his medallion to that man yesterday…”
“Exactly. He must not, under any circumstance, lose this medallion until we find out more. Listen, Hoda, if the Temple catches wind of this, they will, at the very least, kill your entire family, or worse, destroy the whole village and everyone in it. We must act fast.”
Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) Page 2