“So, what about the prophecy of the four drops of blood from Baal and all the rest?” asked Tanios, who always favored hard facts over legends and lore.
“Well, this is the part I am least comfortable with. In order to break Alissaar’s curse, you may need four drops of blood, as the poem prescribes. Ibromaliöm believes this to be the case. He said this song comes from Tanniin through a medium. Tanniin may have found a way to break the curse. Four drops of blood from four men of Baal must be sprinkled on the corners of the chamber where the sarcophagus lies. I believe this is a fabrication. It is pure folklore.”
“The assassin of the two young men from Baal seems to believe it.”
“And I confess that I find this frightening. Anyone who believes in this story enough to kill must be mad. When I was in Babylon, stories of this type were rife. The Sacred Valley of Marduc-Wad became dangerous. Charlatans took advantage of people’s ignorance and gullibility. They convinced many that fabulous treasures awaited them in locked caves. They would demand from these wretched souls four drops of blood to break the curse protecting the treasure. I will spare you the accounts of the atrocious crimes committed in Babylon then. Finally, the Temple intervened and put an end to this madness. I must admit that I was very surprised when I heard of these machinations in this poem.”
“Does Your Majesty have any idea who might be mad?”
The Queen sustained Tanios’ look for a moment before answering. “Commander Tanios, I find the history of this kingdom to which my fate has been linked, amusing. It helps me cope with the boredom of everyday life. Ask me if you will, about the past and about this man who would stop at nothing to be set free. I can relate to him, but spare me questions about murders. The mere thought of it is enough to upset me. Now if you will excuse me, I would like to rest. I am not yet fully recovered.”
The two men bowed before Queen Ramel and left immediately. They walked in silence for a while until they reached the balcony overlooking the inner garden. High in the sky, a falcon sent forth his piercing shriek.
“So, Master Habael, what have you to say about this conversation? You have been rather quiet through it all.”
“Her Majesty is very learned, is she not?”
“More than I had imagined. She is very articulate and seems to know this subject inside and out. She repeatedly called Masters Garu and Ibromaliöm, ‘Garu’ and ‘Ibromaliöm’. I did not know she was on such familiar terms with the two judges.”
“She has met frequently with both of them to study these issues.”
“I knew Garu and Ibromaliöm were called often before Her Majesty’s presence,” said the commander. “Master Habael, do you believe what she said about El-Windiir? I find her story hard to swallow.”
“I do not,” replied Habael softly. “I subscribe to everything she said with one exception.”
“And that is?”
“All the poems have the shepherds and the highlanders as their common source, so why single out the poem about the drops of blood? Either all these poems contain an element of truth, or they do not.”
“Let me see if I have the sequence of events right: first El-Windiir strikes a curse against anyone who attempts to open his tomb, except for the ‘one who could.’ Did I get this part right?”
“Yes.”
“Then he hides the power in his sarcophagus that a later descendant attempts to open. The curse is unleashed. Dilandiir becomes king and calls on the Alissaar Ben-Nadam to stem the curse. Alissaar locks up the beast, takes the sarcophagus, and hides it somewhere in the mines. He is a Methodical, so he decides to complement the work of El-Windiir. He curses the place where the sarcophagus is hidden and curses the ‘one who could’ so that, if he should enter the mines, even accidentally, he would be cursed. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Finally, Tanniin uses a mysterious medium who recites a verse from a poem: ‘To remove the curse, kill four men of Baal and sprinkle their blood on the four corners of the seal,’ whatever this seal is.”
“Indeed, Commander.”
“Have I missed anything?”
“I do not think so.”
They walked silently for a while pondering what they had just heard. “I do not know who should be more ashamed of themselves,” said the commander, angrily, “the gods for putting up with such wretched scheming, or us for putting up with such ruthless gods.” He heaved a deep sigh. “So then, we have a madman—maybe a group of them—who believe they can open the sarcophagus and grab El-Windiir’s power by sprinkling four drops of blood. Right?”
“Sounds convoluted, but yes, I think this makes sense.”
“All right, but why now? If I wanted to commit these crimes, would I wait for a powerful priestess of Baal to be here to commit them? No, I would not. This is sheer madness.”
“Unless…” said Master Habael.
“Unless?”
“Unless time is paramount.”
“The crime would be politically motivated, but this does not fit the way politically motivated leaders act. They may try to overthrow the King, assassinate High Priestess Bahiya, launch sedition, raise the populace, and start a revolution. People who yearn to free their kingdom are pragmatists. They deal with tangible facts, not misty lore and fables from the distant past. I am having a hard time reconciling the two.”
“A desperate madman, then?” asked Habael.
“As if the royal court was not already complicated,” replied the commander, sighing.
“Commander Tanios, Commander Tanios…”
Tanios and Habael turned around and saw a servant running down the corridor. Tanios welcomed the distraction. It sounded like a problem, but one he was used to dealing with. The servant stood before them panting. They waited until he had sufficiently caught his breath.
“What is it now?” asked Tanios.
“Commander Tanios, the high priestess is looking all over for you. She has an urgent need to speak with you. Please, follow me.”
“One moment. Master Habael, what are your plans?”
“With your permission, Commander Tanios, I am going to have a little chat with Master Garu and Master Ibromaliöm. Who knows what I might glean from these conversations.”
“Very good idea, but please send a servant and have him fetch Jedarc. He shall be your escort. He is sharp as a sickle. I would trust him with my own life.”
“Thank you, Commander,” replied Habael, bowing. He knew full well that an escort was not necessary during the day, but after what they had just heard, Tanios no longer trusted either judge.
“Come, young man,” said the commander to the servant, “lead the way. Let us see what is on the high priestess’ mind.”
“Magic, it may be said, was rife in the land before the Temple established its dominion. Sureï, and the men and women who came after him, labored mightily to rid the land of magic. Their success was partial, for magic still lurks in the shadows, hidden in abandoned temples and ruins, deep within caves or on high in star observatories on mountain tops. Our efforts must be relentless, whatever the cost, even if in the process, innocent lives are lost.”
–Teachings of Oreg, High Priest of Baal.
“The Lone Tower was not abandoned when the star readers ceased their occupation. It was abandoned when Kyliir, the last star master, inadvertently summoned the ring of fire. The Pit of Darkness split the tower’s floor and swallowed him—and all those with him—down into the realm of demons.”
–Memoir of Alkiniöm the Traveler
Tanios stepped out onto the royal balcony and beheld Bahiya leaning over the stone railing. She wore a long, black velvet dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a draped neck. A red silk veil framed her face as it shimmered in the light streaming from her open door. She is not in her priestly garments, he noted as he drew closer. She turned to greet him, and he was struck once more by her beauty. Images from the distant past flooded his mind, filling his heart with long-repressed feelings. He remembered with surpris
ing clarity their last peaceful night together, when they took a long stroll on the sandy beach of Bragafâr beneath a star-studded cupola. They had remained on the beach all night, and in the morning, they had toured the mysterious Whale of Bragafâr, a lifelike statue of a blue whale. He had held Bahiya’s hand tightly in his own as they joined a group of tourists inside the whale and listened, fascinated by their guide, a tall, lanky fellow with a nasal voice.
“This whale is Takkan, harbinger of Kanmar, the god of the deep. She was forged from the scales of Numerej, the great serpent of the sea by Wogal, the blind, three-headed blacksmith. She is a sign from the great god reminding the people of Bragafâr of their sacred duty to protect the whales that grace our shores every spring.”
He had invited them to follow him inside the belly of the sculpture before resuming his rehearsed recitation: “Takkan is one hundred and ten feet long, twenty-two feet at its apex, and twenty feet wide.” Tanios no longer remembered all the details, but he never forgot the incident involving a small fish. The guide had led them deep inside the whale and showed them a small fish made of gold, floating freely above their heads.
“This is Tulloon, Kanmar’s messenger. She watches over us and makes our deeds known to the god,” he had said reverently. “Kings would give half their kingdom for this fish, and many a foolish thief—foreigners mostly—have tried to steal it in vain. No one has ever managed to lay a finger on the fish of gold. Kanmar protects Tulloon and punishes the wicked. When we catch a thief—and we always do—we slit his arms, throw him into the sea, and let Yemarak—Kanmar’s executioners—do the ghastly rest.”
Tanios’ recollection of these events was vivid still. Back then, he and Bahiya were hired hands, working for the Temple of Baal, which sent them on difficult missions to steal, destroy, or disrupt centers of magic. The pay was good, and the Temple overlooked whatever they managed to keep for themselves. Bahiya had been a priestess in training when they met, and Tanios, a hired mercenary. The high priest of Baalbeck had said the magical realm reacted strongly whenever they were together. Tanios never understood what that meant; back then, he did not care. Bahiya was beautiful, witty, and shared his love of travel. Nothing else had mattered.
Their mission was to steal Tulloon. Sharr, priest of Baalbeck, had promised four thousand gold shekels if they succeeded. Tanios did not require a translator during that famous tour to know the “Yemarak” the guide spoke of, meant sharks. Still, the lure of gold and the love of adventure prodded him forward. That night, after the tour, they had managed to evade the guards, sneaked inside the whale, and tried to steal the floating fish. However, despite Bahiya’s incantations, Tanios never managed to lay a hand on the strange creature. A patrol caught sight of them and they barely escaped. He could still feel her tears flowing down his neck as they hid beneath the jetty of the main port, waiting for Yem’s Fin—one of Baal’s military vessels—to dock. They boarded the swift three-mast, and when at sea, she had begged him to come with her to Fineekia and settle down.
“Next year I will be a priestess. We can live comfortably in Baalbeck,” she had told him. “Come with me.”
He had laughed her request away. “I will never live in the shadow of Baal,” he told her. “Better to die at sea than to live in the shadow of death.”
She had not replied and grew progressively forlorn. Not long afterward, she left him after one of their memorable adventures. He learned later that she had joined the Temple of Baalbeck. He went to Tanniin and settled in Taniir-The-Strong. Zakiruun carried urgent messages from her, but he refused to hear them. As her power grew, so did her fame. He would often hear the King’s guests whisper her name with a respect bordering on awe. As the years passed, he began to forget her face and voice. He had shut the door on his past, and she had chosen to stay behind it; nothing would force him to open it again.
Nothing did.
Until now.
A few weeks earlier, King Jamiir informed him of her arrival and requested that he be her escort and protector during her stay in the kingdom. The news struck him like a fist in the chest and troubled him deeply, more than he was willing to admit.
“Why is she coming?” he had asked. His tone was harsher than he would have liked.
The King raised an eyebrow. He nicknamed Tanios, Erilin—Dragon’s Wrath—for he sensed in the commander a burning fire that reminded him of the famous bronze head of Tanniin at the shrine of Erilin. In a large cave, at the back of the imposing Temple of Mitriil, the head of the god, twenty-seven feet tall, emerged from a bed of beaten bronze, symbolizing the primordial pool of chaos. Beneath a pair of eyes glittering with contained fury, the open jaws exposed three rows of sharp teeth, representing the god’s swift justice, unbending judgment, and the painful death he reserves for the guilty. There were 6,243 hand sculpted scales on the god’s face, each inlaid with a turquoise stone representing the farseeing powers of Tanniin.
“You will meet her at the military port of Mitreel in one week, my dear Commander, and you shall be your courteous and affable self, as usual.”
Tanios had quickly regained his composure, but his heart remained troubled. When he laid eyes on her as she stepped onto the ship’s footbridge, he knew he was still in love with her. The strength of his feelings surprised and distressed him. Still, the keenest observer would not have detected the turmoil in his heart hiding behind a slight frown and the tightening of his jaw.
“Good evening, Tanios,”
Her voice, hard as steel, brought him back to the present. How you have changed, he thought, bowing courteously. Your face is as beautiful as ever, but within, you are as hard as a stone statue, for Baal is molding you after his own image.
“You have asked to see me?” he said.
Bahiya looked away, then closed her eyes.
“Simer, another athlete from Hiyam’s team, is gone.”
“Again? When?”
“Earlier this evening at curfew.” She glanced quickly at him and closed her eyes. A lock of hair lay lazily on his forehead, partially hiding his right eye, and she caught herself wanting to push it away like she used to do when they were together. She clutched her left fist and crossed her arms, resisting the irrepressible desire to wrap them around his waist. The strength of her feelings surprised her. Even after all these years, she thought, how strange is the human heart.
Tanios felt like asking her what was wrong, but held back. “You mean the team’s curfew?”
“Yes. He did not answer the rally call this morning. Hiyam and her men went to his room, only to find it empty and in order. They cannot confirm that he spent the night there.”
He looked at her, and she gazed at him. The moment their eyes met, they knew they were still in love with each other. Tanios wanted to take Bahiya in his arms. She wished she could lean against him and close her eyes. But the moment passed, and the two lovers faded away, leaving behind a high priestess of Baal and the Commander of the Silent Corps.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He started walking, then stopped abruptly and turned around. “By the way, why do you ask me to help you, when you could just as well use those magic powers of yours to find him?”
“Assuming I had such powers, a magical act of this magnitude is a dangerous endeavor. It would be felt miles around. If I knew the identity or location of the murderer, I might be able to help. Without it, I would do more harm than good.”
Tanios gave a curt nod and left. He went straight to the room of the young man. As he walked, he could not shake the feeling that Bahiya was hiding something from him.
Habael was perplexed.
As he stepped out of the royal kitchen into the wide hallway of the first floor, he saw Ibromaliöm enter the Lone Tower’s staircase. Why is he going up the Lone Tower? he wondered. There is nothing up there, save cobwebs and mice.
Intrigued, he followed the judge up the stairs until he reached
the third level. Servants and slaves shuttled between the Royal Hall and the staircase in the Garden Tower as they made ready for the end of Games celebration in honor of the winner. The judge was nowhere to be seen. Puzzled, Habael turned around to continue his climb and came face-to-face with Jedarc.
“Well, well, young man, what brings you to this part of the castle?”
“The commander asked me to escort you,” the Silent replied.
“Oh, he wants to keep me out of trouble.”
“Well,” replied Jedarc with an embarrassed smile, “he’s trying to keep us …I mean, me…out of the mines.”
“I see,” said Habael in a chuckle, “Well then, why don’t you come up the tower with me? One of the judges went up those stairs and I wondered why. So I followed him, but he is nowhere to be seen.”
“After you, Master Habael,” said Jedarc.
They reached the top and saw no one. A massive oak door with thirteen stars carved along its wide frame stood locked before them.
“Is this the Star Room?” asked Jedarc.
“Indeed it is,” said Master Habael, inspecting the door. “I see you were paying attention during history classes.”
“I like history,” replied Jedarc. “Knowledge of history is depth of vision,” he added.
“Spoken like a true prince,” said Habael, peering through the keyhole. He could see the edge of a wooden table, but nothing more.
“What a strange handle,” observed Jedarc. Ever curious, he reached out to grab it, but Master Habael—moving with surprising speed— gripped his hand and pulled it back.
“Do not touch it,” he said gently. “Look at it, but do not touch.”
Jedarc relaxed his hand and Master Habael removed his. The young man bent down to examine the handle. It was half an inch thick and nearly five inches long, made of beaten iron and covered with tiny scales.
Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) Page 28