The hillside to his left rose at least fifteen hundred feet, while the incline to his right fell precipitously to a narrow canyon that was supposed to lie four thousand feet below. Since no one had dared to explore the hollow, no one knew what lay in that canyon. A howling wind blew into a deep shaft behind the hills, an abyss separating the hills from the Dragon’s Hollow’s edge. The wind moaned and roared with a suddenness that sent shivers down the Silent’s spine. Involuntarily, he glanced up, half expecting to see a dragon gliding overhead. Even the dwarfs, who reveled in acrobatics, left this entire section of the mines alone, refusing to climb the hills, cross to the edge, or even climb to see how high the roof was. “The hallow hollow is significant significantly,” they would say in their odd manner of speech, “and a significantly significant signification that must be left alone in its lonely loneliness.” Thus, the hollow stood as a stern warning and reminder to men and dwarfs, to stay their curiosity and control their greed.
The path followed the hills for twelve miles, which Ahiram covered in a solitary run that lasted an hour and a half until he reached the massive Iron Gate that guarded the Merry Bridge. This bridge consisted of a single stone slab linking the path Ahiram was on to the Shipping Hall. Here, in happier times, miners celebrated weddings. The groom would hold his bride’s hand while she walked blindfolded on the edge of the slab. For as the miners’ saying went, “To marry a miner, a woman’s trust and courage must be deeper than Dragon’s Hollow’s abyss.”
The gate was sixty feet high and twenty feet wide and made of beaten copper. Its latticed panels bore a giant hammer, the preferred insignia of the dwarfs. Presently, a High Rider patrol guarded the locked gate.
“How long before the next patrol?” asked one of the soldiers. The High Rider spoke softly, but his voice resonated in the cave.
“Quiet,” barked his superior. “Keep your eyes on the path. The arbitrators told us the slave is near. There’s a reward for his head. The quicker we nab him, the quicker we can get out of this blasted place.”
Silence fell, and the men resumed their observation, when two puffs of smoke rose from the ground before their feet. The men, whose nerves were already jarred by the oppressive surroundings, panicked, thinking that a dragon was rising from the abyss beneath. They retreated to the gate, leaning their backs against its reassuring shape. Their leader, a stout man unafraid of the darkness, rallied them with a shout of command. “It’s the slave,” he said. “Keep your eyes on the path.”
Ahiram grinned as he flew down the abyss hanging on to the rope that his dart had tied to the gate. After throwing the two smoke pellets, he had fired his dart above the men’s heads, and it latched on the gate. Before the men had a chance to recover, he flung himself down the abyss and flew along a wide arc that took him past the gate and over the bridge. He waited until the last moment before letting go of the rope, landed softly on his feet, and ran swiftly away, while the High Riders were still staring at the path, waiting for him.
At last, he reached the Shipping Hall and stopped in his tracks: a rock avalanche had sealed the hallway off.
“Now what?” he said out loud, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
“Now, you come with us,” said a powerful voice.
Before he could react, two figures leaped in front of him.
“Jedarc, Banimelek, what are you doing here?”
“Checking up on things,” said Jedarc, grinning.
“What things?” asked Ahiram wearily. He knew he should have refrained from asking, but it was too late.
“Someone has to keep an eye on you,” replied his friend. “You could be in trouble.”
“I am in trouble,” grumbled Ahiram.
“Not that kind of trouble,” exclaimed Jedarc. “Left alone in the mines, who knows? You could be courting Hiyam.” Ahiram elbowed his friend, but Jedarc, swift as the wind, moved away. “What?” protested Jedarc with a sly grin. “She is awfully pretty.”
“Jedarc, do you really think this is the right time to talk about Ahiram courting a High Rider?” asked Banimelek.
“Or courting anyone, for that matter,” replied Jedarc pensively, “other than a cooked chicken, that is. You should have seen him shoving half a chicken in his mouth while sitting next to the high priestess. I think this is why she fainted. Speaking of chicken, do you know why chickens do not like vegetarian cooks?”
“What do we do now?” cut in Ahiram, looking at Banimelek. “Hiyam and her men may not be far behind.”
“We climb,” replied Banimelek. “There’s a shaft fifteen hundred feet that way,” he pointed to Ahiram’s left. “It’s a straight climb for eight hundred feet, then it inclines gently.”
“Let’s go,” replied Ahiram, heaving a sigh. “There’s no time to lose.”
“So do you know?” asked Jedarc, as they began their climb.
“Know what?” replied Ahiram.
“Well, why chickens hate vegetarian cooks.”
“No, Jedarc, why?” replied Ahiram as he negotiated a difficult reach.
“Because he beats the eggs,” said their friend with a chuckle.
“Someone else will get a beating if an arbitrator hears us,” growled Banimelek. “We saw a patrol of High Riders enter the mines, and we knew they were up to no good. Cowls on everyone, let’s keep moving.” he added.
They finished the first climb in silence and took a few minutes to rest before continuing.
“Hey,” said Jedarc, as they began their final ascent, “What did the chicken say to the pig when they fell in a big puddle of mud?”
None of them responded, and his answer was lost high up in the mines; if the joke was funny, neither of his friends laughed.
They reached the surface without incident. It was already night. Ahiram realized that he had spent the entire day underground. Suddenly, he noticed that he was famished and started laughing.
“What is so funny?” asked Banimelek, scanning for a signal.
“Jedarc’s useless jokes made me realize one thing,” he said after a while.
“And what have you been able to draw from the well of my wisdom?” asked Jedarc. “I think I should sit on a mountaintop and spout words of wisdom in the form of chicken jokes.”
“Don’t even think about it, Jedarc,” said Ahiram with a grin. “I am too hungry to hear you talk about chicken.”
“There is the signal,” said Banimelek, pointing at a light across the valley beneath. “The way is clear,” he said, even though he knew both of his friends could read these signals as well as he. Quickly, they went down the hill until they reached the main western path a few miles past the Bridge of Evergreen where Ahiram sprinted back to the plaza.
“Much has been said about meyroon, the numinous metal of Tanniin, but little is known about its composition, properties, or origin. Sureï the Sorcerer once said, “The Priests of Silbarâd fused white gold and andaxilian iron and immersed them in Haialynn, the primordial pool of life filled with Mey-El-Roon, the Water of Blessing…
“…they sprinkled one hundred and forty-four herbs over the pool while chanting mystical prayers. Water became fire, earth turned into wind, and the metals transmuted into meyroon.”
–Teachings of Oreg, High Priest of Baal
Dawn. Tanios stood on the balcony, peering into the night. He looked up and shuddered as the stars of heaven were fading away. “Have the gods turned their faces away from the mines, I wonder?” he muttered. “Have they sealed Ahiram’s fate?” He clutched the railing and closed his eyes. Thirty years of dealing with the Temple told him Ahiram could not survive the snares of Baal. He was frightened—frightened and angry. He had been fond of the lad from the day he laid eyes on him—standing stiff and scared behind Master Kwadil’s emissaries.
“Master Kwadil entrusted me with the following message,” Balid had told him. “Esteemed Commander, it is a most opportunistic opportunity and an opportunity most opportune for the commanding commander and the commander commanding the silent Sil
ent to carefully care and care with utmost care for this young lad,” had recited Balid, using the customary long-winded speech of the dwarfs.
“My husband is not a Zakiir, but he could have been one. His memory never fails him,” had explained Foosh.
“Considerable considerations and considerations most considerable,” had continued Balid, “derived with attentive attention should be given to his training.
“Alas, a necessary necessity and a necessity of the utmost necessary nature necessitates that no visible visibility be given to his standing status. For if he is noticeably noticed and noticed in the most noticeable fashion by undesired undesirables, then the unfortunately unfortunate consequent consequence is that his life would come to an abrupt end and an end of the most abrupt fashion. Furthermore, his originating origin and original origin must be kept secretively secretive and be a secret most secretive.”
“Train him as a Silent, treat him as slave, and conceal his place of birth,” had replied Tanios. “I understand.”
Tanios had followed Kwadil’s instruction to the letter, for he trusted the dwarf with his own life. He didn’t ask questions, knowing Kwadil had relayed to him all he wanted to say.
Ahiram’s presence in Taniir-The-Strong Castle went largely unnoticed outside the tightly knit circle of the Silent, Master Habael, and a few servants in the kitchen. He was a slave among many, and none was the wiser. Over the years, his affection for the lad grew until he treated him like his own son. By the end of the second year, none of the Silent, save Ahiram, thought of him as slave. The commander admitted to Master Habael that he had underestimated the impact of the separation from his family on the lad.
“I thought time would soothe his wound, and he would accept the separation. Instead, it has grown worse. Nothing can come between Ahiram and the love he has for his family. His sole purpose in life is to go back home as a free man.”
“I would not ignore his temper,” Habael had added. “It is certainly a constant cause of grief and distress.”
“Correct, as usual. Still, I wish he could see life and purpose for him, right here, in Tanniin.”
Master Habael had smiled enigmatically. “You are not the only one to suffer from his single-minded goal, my dear Tanios. This lad has caused a princess to shed many tears.”
“You are right as usual, Master Habael,” replied the commander sighing, “He will break her heart.”
“Or she, his,” replied Master Habael.
The commander shrugged his shoulders. “Even if I lived one hundred lives, I shall never understand what motivates women,” grumbled the commander. “He is a slave desperately trying to set himself free, and she is thinking of romance.”
“Perhaps so, my dear Tanios, but this young woman’s heart is an ineffable treasure holding the surpassing mystery of love. I have high hopes for Noraldeen.”
Commander Tanios shrugged his shoulders once more. “That may be so, Master Habael, but look at Ahiram. He is so driven that he does everything with a frightening intensity. When I train the Silent, I am constantly reminding them that they must give me everything they have, and then give me more. But with him, I have to hold him back. His standard of perfection is even higher than mine. I have often heard him tell his peers that a Silent must move like the waves of the sea, the breeze in the forest, and the raging, all-consuming fire of the plains. When they ask him who gave him these ideas, he replies matter-of-factly, ‘My father, because that’s what my father would say.’ That’s Ahiram for you.”
“His father’s shadow has grown tall amongst the Silent,” replied Habael.
The commander nodded. “Do not forget his sister, Hoda. Every Silent would have loved to meet her,” said the commander softly.
The sun crested the distant mountains, and its first rays turned the indigo of the night into a soft blue. Tanios looked up and saw the stars dim, and then disappear altogether. How appropriate, he thought. Just like Ahiram’s first day of training.
Tanios remembered that day vividly. Ahiram had been with them for six months, during which he sat on the sideline watching the students’ daily training. The Silent had been engaged in a game of agility tag, which Tanios used to help them hone their skills. Two teams had stood facing each other across a fifty-by-fifty foot square, covered with a preponderance of white tiles and fewer black tiles. Before the start of the game, an arbitrator had assigned each player a number as he handed them a dart dipped in a red tincture.
When the commander had called a number, two opponents leaped inside the square and sprinted to the midline. Once they crossed it, they could tag their opponent if he had not yet crossed the midline or if he happened to be on a white tile. A player on a black tile could not throw his dart, but he could not be shot at either. Further, if a player managed to reach the end of the square, he received an extra dart; and if he crossed the square back to his starting point, his opponent was disqualified. Since a player could be tagged while jumping from one black tile to another, reaching the back line was far from easy. As the Silent’s proficiency increased, Commander Tanios decreased the black tiles until none remained.
Tanios would spice up the game by calling several numbers at once. A player who tagged someone other than his designated opponent was disqualified and his number transferred to his closest team player. A dozen simultaneous players taught the Silent to rely on one another, to move in tandem, and to watch their backs while reacting to every move their opponents made.
One student had been ill that day, so Noraldeen stood without an opponent. Tanios had ordered Ahiram to join the opposing team. The students–who had not taken this order seriously–erupted in laughter. The commander, aware of the incongruity of the situation, had not objected. After all, asking a young slave to face a Silent was akin to asking a farmer to engage a soldier. Noraldeen alone had not laughed.
“Do not make us wait, young man.”
The commander’s voice had stilled the room. The students had seen the slave get up and take his place in their midst.
“Commander,” had interjected young Jedarc, unable to keep his mouth shut, “do you want us to play nice?”
“I want you to do your best, Jedarc, as always,” had replied the commander without taking his eyes off the slave. “Now, Jedarc, listen carefully: ‘Who shall bemoan the fate of the Silent who, trusting his eyes, fails to take the full measure of his adversary?’ What have I just quoted?”
“Chapter 3, verse 1 of the Book of Lamentation.”
With these sobering words, the game had proceeded. Then the commander had called Noraldeen and Ahiram. Noraldeen, a fast runner, had reached the midline first, but then Ahiram leaped, and everyone froze. Noraldeen’s throw had been accurate, but futile. Later, she had admitted that tagging Ahiram had been like tagging the wind or the rain. Ahiram had landed behind Noraldeen and gently tagged her with her own dart that he had caught in midair.
That day, his team had been doing badly. So much so, that when he had been called a second time, he faced six opponents, yet managed to tag all of them. Tanios had been astounded at the speed, precision, and power of Ahiram’s throws. Round after round, Ahiram had tagged his opponents. Eventually, there had been only two opponents left in the court: Banimelek and Ahiram. Banimelek towered over Ahiram. His powerful build was coupled with fast reflexes.
Tanios wondered if Ahiram had found his match. He had given the signal. Ahiram had leaped forward, barely touched the ground and rebounded in the air. They thought he had been flying. Tanios watched attentively as Ahiram interweaved well-known movements with movements of his own, that were unlike anything they had seen before. Banimelek had attempted to avoid the fury by sidestepping Ahiram and outflanking him, but it had been useless. Ahiram sped past Banimelek, had jumped, and performed a perfect backward somersault, landing behind his opponent. Banimelek whirled around and had been promptly served a dart on his nose.
“You’re it,” Ahiram had said with a glint in his eye.
Banimelek had
stood frozen. No one could believe what had just happened. Noraldeen applauded, and they had all joined in. He blushed and had looked down. Banimelek had slapped him on the shoulder: his sign of approval and respect. They had surrounded him and drowned him with questions. How did he do this move? Why throw the dart the way he did? Tanios had to call them back to order. He then asked Ahiram if he would like to join the Silent Corps. The young boy had nodded, and they had all welcomed him with cheers and applause.
The young Ahiram was incredibly fast and the accuracy of his blows was frightening. Whenever a Silent became his prey, he moved like a dart, tearing through the air with a purpose that could not be deflected. In all his fighting years, Tanios had never met his equal, save perhaps a long lost friend whose absence the commander felt keenly, now more than ever.
By his talents and abilities, Ahiram had won the admiration of his peers. By his humility, he had won their respect. He was straightforward, truthful, and soft-spoken. Ahiram was technically their superior, but he behaved as one of them. Sure, he blushed with pleasure when they had all applauded, but he had not shown off, a behavior that would have been characteristic of a boy his age. This commanding maturity had earned him the Silent’s friendship and admiration.
Gradually, and without anyone’s intervention, his commanding role had confirmed itself. It seemed natural that Ahiram would become a Silent. It seemed fitting that he would lead his class. They learned to go to Ahiram for advice, and he would humbly direct them. Whenever the question of slavery came up, they avoided it with pained embarrassment; an aberration of sorts, that defied the natural laws.
Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) Page 32