Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1)

by Michael Joseph Murano

  Seeing Ibromaliöm bend the rules so subtly makes me wonder what this man is capable of, he thought. Ramany shivered and decided he had best go back to bed.

  Ahiram woke up with a strange feeling. This new room was larger than his cell. The floor was covered with shiny, laminated oak slabs and the walls were paneled with rosewood. A large mural of two Silent sparring with training staffs covered the wall opposite his bed. The two young women stood in a golden field against a backdrop of snow-covered mountains. An iron-beaten statue of the god Tanniin—all six wings extended—was embedded in the marble ceiling above. Its ruby-red eyes gazed at him in the darkness.

  How odd, thought Ahiram. No window.

  He got up and performed his morning regimen, then left the room. Commander Tanios’ door was closed. He may be still sleeping, or maybe he left, thought the Silent. Regardless, he would not dare disturb his master. Quickly, he walked out the main door into the eastern hall, and went down the staircase located inside the Garden Tower. He reached the first floor just in time for the changing of the guards. Taniir-The-Strong could host a garrison of three hundred and twenty soldiers with their captains and commanders, but King Jamiir had cut the number of soldiers by half. Ahiram knew the barracks closest to the Garden Tower were empty and the servants now used the northeastern dining area for storage. Ordinarily, nothing disturbed the peace of the first floor, aside from the familiar noises from the kitchen. Standing in the shadow of the spiral staircase inside the tower, Ahiram could tell that something was different. Guards stood along the wide corridor of the Lone Tower. A mute tension suffused the air, as if an invisible hand was changing air into lead. Something evil took place here, I am certain of it. He could not pinpoint the source of his certitude, but it overwhelmed him, as if he had witnessed the evil himself. Suddenly, he felt relieved that Noraldeen was gone. At least I don’t have to worry about her.

  Just then, Master Habael and Commander Tanios came out of the royal kitchen. The commander was talking and the old man was listening intently. They went past the Lone Tower and disappeared behind the soldiers’ quarters. So, the commander was up before dawn, he thought. This must be serious.

  He strolled into the corridor with poise, just as the guards would expect. The granary’s door was wide open, and he saw a group of soldiers conducting searches inside. Two Silent barred anyone from entering the royal kitchen, but the servants’ kitchen was open. Leifa, the head female servant, hollered, motioning Ahiram to sit at the table.

  “Master Habael asked me to look out for you and to make certain you ate your breakfast before you leave.” She set an omelet before him with two thick slices of bread, goat milk, and six dried figs.

  “Thank you, Frey Leifa,” replied Ahiram.

  Leifa grinned and ruffled his hair. “Always polite, this one,” she said to no one in particular. “He called me ’Lady Leifa’ the first time we met. Look at him, a Solitary with eyes to melt an Empyrean heart, and he calls me ’lady.’ May El give me long life to meet her.”

  “Meet who, Frey Leifa?” asked Ahiram.

  “The Empyrean, silly, the beautiful Empyrean whose heart will melt when she sees you.”

  Ahiram shrugged his shoulders. “Do you know what happened during the night?” he asked, gulping down his food.

  A twinge of sadness cast a shadow over her bright eyes. “Soldiers found one of the guests dead in the storage room,” she said softly.

  “Dead? Who did it?” Ahiram’s mind was racing. No doubt the prince must have accused him. This would explain why Commander Tanios wanted him in the Silent’s quarters.

  “No one knows yet, my boy,” she said, wiping the table. “Don’t you worry about it now. You have a Game to win today.” Leaning forward she whispered mischievously, “We’re all counting on you.” She straightened her posture and continued with a normal voice. “Leave the rest to your commander. He will find out who’s behind this. He always does.”

  Ahiram smiled and said nothing. He finished eating in silence, thanked Leifa once more and slipped quietly out of the kitchen.

  When he reached the circular plaza in front of the Mine of Silver, the crowd had already filled the stands and were showing signs of impatience. The participating teams were already in place.

  Many considered the Game of Silver, also known as the “Game of Bridges”, to be the first real Game. To win, the contenders had to cross several dangerous bridges. Its entrance was high up the mountain face, across the ravine, reachable only by the Bridge of Evergreen, a suspended bridge which stood six hundred feet over the Renlow River. It measured four hundred yards long and linked the two sides of the path that Ahiram had taken the day before, shaving two miles off the length of the rocky road. Unwary travelers who chose this crossing invariably ended up stuck midway trying to survive the bridge’s wide and deadly swings caused by the capricious northwestern wind.

  Those who were rescued suffered severe bouts of dizziness, even days after, and those who were not rescued were carried away by the river into the swamps.

  The first salvo of trumpet blasts filled the plaza. The crowd cheered and applauded expectantly. King Jamiir’s carriage had just arrived, followed by the royal retinue. The teams stood at attention by their posts. Ahiram was surprised to see a second flag above his own, attached to his post. No one had bothered to tell him about the decision the judges had reached the night before. The second trumpet call echoed in the valley. An arbitrator ran to him.

  “As the current champion, your first flag must be the highest, and your second, the lowest to match your…state.”

  “You mean because I am a slave?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Fine.”

  The arbitrator ran back. Ahiram began lifting the flag. In the surrounding silence, he could almost feel the crowd’s gaze upon him. The blinding sunrays occluded the standard as he continued pulling on the rope until it locked in place. Next, he lifted his own banner, careful to keep it beneath the others.

  “To the honor of Father’s name,” he whispered, and turned around.

  The crowd’s roar startled him. Men and women were clapping and chanting, ostensibly looking at him. Me? Have they gone mad? Or did old Habael bribe them? Ahiram bowed and the crowd thundered. Then, amid the great brouhaha, a chime rang and a bell tolled. The crowd quieted immediately. A ruddy, young boy on the fourth bench stood holding the bell. Solemnly, the crowd stood up and many waved white handkerchiefs as they began singing. Surprisingly, their voices were mellifluous.

  O flag of my heart

  You are bleeding.

  The love of my soul,

  His life receding.

  O flag of my heart,

  Why are you fleeting?

  The love of my youth

  Has left me pleading,

  For you and the day

  Of dancing on high,

  Embracing the rain,

  The blue of the sky.

  The blue of his eyes,

  The crest of the moon,

  The silk of the light

  On the rim of Aramuun.

  O flag of my heart,

  O flee my demise.

  My love that once soared,

  My love is no more.

  Death passes

  By me at last.

  The land is past,

  Yet as I go today;

  Where my beloved has gone;

  Arise, O my flag,

  O hope from the dawn.

  Arise!

  On the rays of the sun,

  On the crest of the moon,

  On the rim of Aramuun.

  And fly in their hearts,

  O fly on their lips

  Across all the land,

  All over their ships.

  Keep them company, until the happy day

  When you will be restored

  Above all the land.

  By their voices, by their hands,

  Until the day when you, forevermore,

  Will fly in the wind, by the
toll of the bell,

  And fly El-Windiir, by the toll of the bell.

  Ahiram looked up at the flag incredulously. It bore three pairs of wings in the rising sun.

  “Astounding. The flag of Tanniin and the bell, just as Layaleen foretold,” he whispered. The sight of it, flapping in the wind gave him goose bumps as he remembered the prophesy of El-Windiir’s wife: “Liberation from Baal will come when a slave rings the bell and raises the flag of Tanniin”.

  This incident frustrated Jamiir and annoyed him. These Games were turning out to be a real headache. Clearly, the crowd now sided with Ahiram. A slave flying El-Windiir’s flag—how poetic, he thought. He stepped out of his carriage, signaling the start of the procession. I better do something before they dethrone me, he thought, smiling. The crowd’s roar drowned the third trumpet blast.

  Events are beginning to get out of hand, thought Tanios, walking behind the King. The crowd has a champion now. I wonder if the Baalites will impose the curfew tonight. He followed the King and gave Bahiya his biggest grin. She looked away.

  “The priestess is annoyed—how charming.” He laughed, knowing she could hear him.

  The Silent formed two ranks flanking the King. The crowd hushed. The lead arbitrator motioned for Ahiram to go first. Confused, he complied. What is going on here? he thought. As a slave, I am supposed to go last. Since no one protested, he assented.

  Ibromaliöm, who had followed the entire scene from the rightmost side of the amphitheater, slipped away unnoticed.

  The procession snaked its way through the eager crowd toward the Bridge of Evergreen. Many hands tried to touch or grab Ahiram, but the Silent company in charge of the King’s safety kept everyone at bay. They reached the bridge without incident. There, the Silent had to make use of their full authority to clear a circle wide enough for the King and the athletes to stand within. Presently, Ahiram faced the swinging bridge. The path around him overflowed with people, with some standing precariously on boulders overlooking the ravine. Ahiram could see the entrance to the Mine of Silver perched sixty feet above the bridge’s landing area. To reach it, he would have to cross the bridge in less than a minute, jump, grab one of the ropes hanging from a pole near the entrance, and climb to the cave. A minute after Ahiram would set foot on the bridge, Hiyam and her team would come after him. If they stepped onto the bridge before he managed to leave it, they could try to throw him over, and he did not doubt their proficiency. He could heard them snickering behind him. Dirty murderers, he thought.

  If I reach the Hall of Echoes before them, I will be fine, he thought. They won’t dare use magic in front of the crowd. The hall was a large cavern where, traditionally, the belts were hidden. It could comfortably accommodate five thousand spectators who were privileged to watch the teams contend for the concealed artifacts.

  Ahiram braced himself and focused solely on the bridge. He waited for the signal: three short trumpet blasts that rattled the crowd’s nerves and echoed down into the valley. Immediately, he leaped onto the bridge, running. “Do not look down, do not even try to see where you are placing your feet: run, run as if you are sailing on water. You must be as nimble as a lynx, fast as the wind, and the bridge will carry you like a powerful river. Slow down for an instant and all will be lost.” He could clearly hear the voice of Master Habael. He smiled and kept running. The cheer of the crowd reached him and reverberated down the valley. He was nearing the end when the bridge shook violently. He gripped the right hand rail, a thick, rough rope, and looked back. Hiyam’s team was fast approaching. They swung the bridge on a wide arc and jumped forward whenever it passed through its upright position. Ahiram did the same. Finally reaching the other side, he ran as fast as he could and began his climb. Hiyam’s team stopped swinging the bridge and came after him.

  Incredible, thought the Silent, I cannot believe anyone could run that fast on this bridge. He doubled his efforts. Suddenly, his rope started swinging wildly, and he grazed his head against a rock. Looking down, he saw two of Hiyam’s teammates holding the end of his rope and began swinging it. Hiyam and the rest started their ascent on another rope. Ahiram’s situation was becoming precarious. He had stopped climbing now and was desperately clinging to the rope. The two men swinging the rope changed tactics. Holding the rope, they moved back, pulling him with them, then ran forward to slam him against the wall. This new maneuver brought Ahiram closer to Hiyam’s rope. In one quick jump, he switched ropes. The sudden loss of weight propelled the two riders holding his rope forward. They slammed against the wall and collapsed. Now let them swing this rope, he thought, while climbing quickly. He reached the cave with Hiyam on his tail. I need to slow them down, he thought. He took a small vial from his belt and broke it on the rope, then he ran up the winding path into the mine.

  The constricted path wound through the mountain like a coiled, slippery serpent. It led to the Bridge of Light; a cylindrical slab spanning a narrow but deep chasm. Natural light streaming through deep shafts bounced off the bridge and the surrounding stalactites in a blinding prism, turning the bridge into a shimmering halo of bright colors. A contender abruptly crossing into the intense light could be momentarily blinded and would fail to notice how slippery the bridge was. To cross it, one had to crawl, and quickly, to avoid being burned by its icy-cold surface.

  The low ceiling forced Ahiram to crouch, and the light was so dim now that he relied on his hands to avoid bumping against the ceiling. Suddenly, he heard a scream and a commotion behind him. Good. The itching powder is at work. Presumably, some of Hiyam’s teammates had touched the portion of the rope affected by the contents of his vial.

  That should slow them a bit, he thought. Encouraged, he pushed forward. By now, he was crawling, and his progress was painfully slow. The tunnel constricted further, stalling his movements. He felt like an insect trapped in a spider’s web. Ahiram knew he could not defend himself should his pursuers attack him now. Vulnerability turned into anger, and anger spurred him onward. Faster, he thought. I must move faster. He crawled like never before, ignoring the agonizing burn in his knees and hands. After a short time, he felt the ceiling rise, and finally he could stand, hunched over until, at last, he could stand unhindered.

  He trekked around a bend and was dazzled, almost blinded by the ambient light that surged from thousands of glittering stars. Even though he had seen this bridge before, the beauty of the dancing light made him forget the Games for a moment. But he jolted back into action when he heard the muffled sounds of footsteps behind him. He stepped onto the bridge, wanting to cross on foot, but one slippery step convinced him that it was not possible. He got down and again, began crawling, cringing as the icy-cold stone pricked him like a thousand cruel thorns. He reached the other side, and managed to stand up just as Hiyam entered the room.

  How did she make it up here so quickly? he wondered. Later, he thought. Now the real challenge begins.

  He eyed the steep descent ahead of him and took a deep breath. He had to get down this path—a frozen, interior river—and reach the bottom unscathed. Many contenders would plummet to the frozen lake below with broken bones or worse.

  Ahiram put on a pair of leather shoes with small spikes to help control his decent. He slid down, gaining speed as he went, when he heard a stifled noise behind him. He looked back and stared wide-eyed at Hiyam running down the path as if she were running on dirt. She overtook him, threw a lasso around his neck and yanked. He nearly choked as he fell onto the ice. He loosened the knot around his neck as he tumbled down the ice—the High Riders gliding gracefully around him. He focused on avoiding obstacles and softening the blows he was receiving as Hiyam swung him from wall to wall. The descent lasted forever. Finally, they made it to the bottom of the river and Hiyam swung him against the wall, then dropped the rope.

  They have ordinary shoes, thought Ahiram. How did they manage to slide so easily? Warily, he stood rubbing his sides and back.

  “You are wondering how we are so fast, are you not, s
lave?” said Hiyam, who seemed to read his mind. “I may as well tell you, since you will be dead soon: magic.”

  “Magic? But the use of magic is strictly forbidden.”

  Hiyam and her team laughed at him. “For a slave, maybe, but not for the daughter of the high priestess of the Temple of Baal.”

  He looked at her. “Ah, so you win by cheating.”

  She blushed, and her eyes became hard as steel. “Get rid of him.” she ordered, “Now.”

  Ahiram had found a weakness and was determined to exploit it to the full. “A cheater and a coward, I see,” he said nonchalantly. “Like mother, like daughter.” he added, snickering. He pretended to rub his back muscles while his hands were searching for just the right dart.

  Everyone froze. Hiyam looked at him with murderous eyes.

  “I was going to let my men kill you quickly,” she said, edging a bit closer, “but now…” She turned sideways to give an order, when she heard a loud popping sound and felt something prick in her neck. Instinctively, her hand went to her neck and discovered a dart lodged above her collar. Fear seized her and confusion set in as she looked at Ahiram, wide-eyed. She felt the tip of the dart. Rubber, she thought contemptuously. Another of this slave’s stupid tricks.

  She was about to pull on it when she saw Ahiram raise both hands. “I would not do that if I were you,” he blurted out. She stood motionless, her hand on the dart. “It is poisonous. Remove it the wrong way and the poison will seep into your skin, and you will die a rather painful death. The poison in this dart will paralyze your muscles. Your lungs will collapse, and you will drown—slowly.”

  “You are lying,” she said breathless.

  “How are you going to find out?” he replied, grinning. Her hand tensed on the dart.

  “Do not do it, Hiyam,” interjected one of her men. “The Silent are known for being cruel and ruthless, and they are masters of these infernal tricks.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Let us keep moving. We will find someone else to remove it.”