“The north stirs,” whispered Kalibaal. “Once unleashed, it will be difficult to contain.”
An invisible wind was moving the surface of the water. Sharr waved a hand over it, and it became rigid like ice, but without freezing. Thin silver threads appeared below the surface. They flailed, their tips sinking into the bowl, and when they reappeared, they clasped a flower. As they dragged the flower to the center, a blinding flash of light cut through the darkness. The silver web was broken, the image disappeared, and the water became still.
“What just happened?” asked Kalibaal, fear seeping through his words. “What was that light?”
“The Urkuun lashed out at the priestess. The meaning of this action escapes me.”
Kalibaal was dumbfounded. In the twenty-seven years he had served as priest, he had never once heard the high priest admit ignorance.
“Perhaps it was trying to attack the King and it missed?”
“An Urkuun does not miss,” chided Sharr. “What is most troubling is the blinding flash of light. Another power is awakening. The Seer must be close to his quarry.”
“What does it mean, My Lord?” asked Kalibaal, holding his breath.
Sharr faced Kalibaal, his piercing eyes burrowing into the younger priest’s soul. “It means, my dear Kalibaal, that your reign as a high priest will be heavy indeed. The Second Age of Blood is upon us.”
Jamiir loved to walk, a privilege few monarchs outside his kingdom possessed. No king of Tanniin could govern unless he could walk on his own two feet around Taniir-The-Strong. A ruler would be carried in a dragon-shaped palanquin only on rare and solemn days: birth, presentation to the winged god on his third year, his wedding, and when he was too sick to move or on his deathbed. Customarily, a small company of twelve Silent guarded the royal procession; the reputation of this elite corps did the rest. Presently, Sondra led the Silent. She walked in front of the King while two teammates scouted ahead and two more closed the royal ranks. The remaining seven formed a fluid and discrete circle around the King, who took no notice of them. Jamiir smelled the scent of fresh pine and marjoram. It invigorated him.
“Beautiful day, is it not, my dear Bahiya?” repeated the King.
“That it is, Your Majesty,” replied the priestess wistfully.
“Few notice the beauty of our forest,” said the King, pointing at the nearby trees. “Here, poplar, chestnut, beech, oak, and pine grow in judicious harmony. Deeper in the forest, there are majestic yew, ash, and maple trees, whose girth and size are unknown elsewhere. Look over there,” he said, pointing to his left. “Isn’t this bougainvillea bush in full bloom next to this cluster of wild orchids magnificent? And down below, do you see the timid hydrangeas swaying gently, as if lulled to sleep by the breeze?”
“I see the terraced benches of rhododendrons,” said the priestess.
“The hydrangeas are below the second terrace. These flowers grow beneath our trees freely,” he added. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
“His Majesty has a keen eye and a great love for gardening, I see,” replied the priestess politely.
They resumed their walk.
“Master Habael’s knowledge of the forest is astounding,” said the King. “I enjoy my walks with him. He will make a gardener of me.”
“Babylon’s gardens are a true jewel,” said Bahiya softly. “When Your Majesty visits the royal city of Baal, I hope His Majesty will find the time to tour the suspended garden.”
Jamiir did not reply, but the meaning was clear. If the priestess appreciated his allusions to freedom, she was not moved and made it amply clear he that would be visiting Babylon soon. So it is decided, he thought, and the death of the slave, which I approved, will not soften the blow. He smiled, closed his eyes, and breathed the forest’s fresh air.
“Halt,” ordered Sondra. “Your Majesty, we must clear the road.”
Ahead, where the path met Royal Road, a large group of townsfolk had sealed off the access that led to the King’s castle.
Sondra reached them quickly and faced them alone. She pulled her cowl away, revealing the distinct Silent’s green and black uniform.
“Please, make way for the King.” She spoke casually to avoid any provocation.
“What about Ahiram?” asked a middle-aged man with a burnished face. “Me thinks these nasty rumors ain’t right.”
“They’re true, though, like blue’s blue,” said a short, burly woman.
“They don’t make us happy,” added a young man holding a pitchfork. “It ain’t right. We only want what’s right.”
“Tell’em white owls to stay out of it,” hollered a tall woman from the side. “We don’t need their meddling noses in our Games.” The people of Tanniin referred to the men of Baal as “white owls” because of the gray tunics they wore. In the legends of Tanniin, the owl betrayed the god Tanniin by guiding Baal to the dragon’s secret lair in the dead of night. A white owl was a renegade, a traitor, and a cheat.
A chorus of “yeah” and “white owls out” rose through the crowd.
Sondra lifted a commanding hand. “The best way to help Ahiram is to let the King pass,” she urged in a soft but commanding voice. “Making His Majesty wait will make matters worse.”
“Traiteh,” yelled a man hidden from view. “Murdereh. You’re no king of Tanniin!”
“Enough,” ordered Sondra, her voice raising a notch. “Let Ahiram’s friends leave now and let his foes stand.” She knew her team’s crossbows were at the ready, but she was unconcerned. This crowd was not murderous, only angry and frustrated, but without ill-intent.
Slowly, the crowd disbanded. The Silent met and held every man and woman’s gaze. She needed them to know who was in control. She shared their pain and anguish, but she was a Silent, committed to protecting the King and obeying the commander, whom she trusted wholeheartedly. She waited until the last of them had gone before giving the signal to move forward.
“If I may say so, Your Majesty,” whispered Bahiya, “you might consider asking Baal’s barracks to protect the castle. Who knows what this mob will do next?”
When the King reached the castle, he followed the high priestess’ advice and called the men of Baal to secure the castle. Tanios tried to dissuade him to no avail. Within a few hours, the men of Baal were deployed in the castle, and the Silent were asked to stay in their quarters. Is this the beginning of the end? wondered Tanios.
Still, the royal castle’s security was Tanios’ responsibility. He inspected the first and second floors and saw to it that the men of Baal were covering the vast castle suitably. “Baal’s soldiers are trained for the battleground,” he muttered, “not for stealth and enclosed spaces.” Why Jamiir confined the Silent to their quarters confounded him.
As soon as the soldiers saw Tanios, they stood at attention, saluting him as if he were their leader. His fame had spread far and wide—something that always surprised him. He had just reached the third floor and was walking toward the Lone Tower when he heard someone calling from the Star Room: “Come and see. Come and see.” Tanios leaped forward. A soldier shouted, “Make way for the commander.” The Star Room was filled with soldiers gazing through the window.
“What is the matter?” asked Tanios.
The men in the tower were surprised to see him but answered to the authoritative voice. “Look, the sun is hiding its face.”
Tanios knew what they meant before looking out the window. Darkness had fallen on the land: Tholma, “the black sun”. Tanios sighed, “It must be an omen.” The sun was the judgment seat of Baal, the god of the air. Tholma was a powerful omen of upheaval and war, indicating the heavenly order had been shaken as if a celestial tremor, akin to an earthquake, had disturbed the seven heavens. Something was about to happen. He turned and looked at the men behind him. He wanted to reassure them and call on their sense of discipline when one of them leaped, jostled Tanios, and jumped out of the window. At first, Tanios took it for a case of suicidal madness as he had seen Tholma cause i
n the past, but then a soldier collapsed in a pool of blood. He was dead.
Tanios recognized the victim as one of the Junior High Riders.
On the floor, in front of the victim, lay a triple silver dart. The fourth drop of blood, thought Tanios, as he leaned over the ledge, trying to see the body of the fleeing murderer on the tiles of the castle’s roof, but he saw no one. A rope was swaying two feet away from the window. He leaned over and yanked. It held, presumably tied to the tower’s rooftop. What is the murderer trying to do? There is no exit up there, thought the commander. Ignoring the commotion in the room, he quickly climbed up. The narrow circular slab was empty. He walked around the edge, looking for any sign of the murderer, but saw nothing, as if the murderer had vanished. How could the murderer climb back down with his bare hands? Supposing he had jumped and run away, he would be intercepted by the soldiers stationed at every door. This made no sense.
Below, Obyj, who had watched the man collapse, leaned against the wall, white as a sheet. Unable to control his fears any longer, he shrieked, pointing at the dead man with a trembling finger. “The Pit, the Pit is opened. It will swallow us.” Dropping his spear, he forced his way through the men around him and ran down the stairs screaming.
Pandemonium ensued. The leader of the patrol, a stocky bearded man, who believed only in blood, ale, and gold, slapped his men on their heads to restore order. Tanios leaped back through the window. Immediately, hands seized him and angry voices filled his ears. When the men realized they had not caught the murderer, they released him with muttered excuses and embarrassed looks.
“He is dead.”
Bahiya was kneeling by the victim. Seeing her in their midst, three men blanched. The rest swallowed hard and stood to attention, wishing they had run away with Obyj. The high priestess was visibly angry. Who knew what she would do to them now.
Tanios noted, absentmindedly, that the door of the Star Room was ajar and the strange handle was missing. Someone had removed the wood planks that blocked the windows. Most likely the priestess wanted more light in here to better see what Garu had been up to.
“He is dead,” she said, seething with anger as she faced Tanios. He did not flinch, but met her gaze calmly. The men were simply awed. “Yes, my dear Tanios, he is dead, and you failed.”
“Shall I remind you, Priestess,” he snapped back, “that it was your idea to bring these men here.”
“It was His Majesty’s order,” cut in Bahiya.
Tanios ignored her. “You know they are not fit for watching over confined spaces like these. You have only yourself to blame.”
“This castle is not safe,” she replied tersely. “Baal will permanently take over the castle’s security. Tonight, we will celebrate my daughter’s victory and her team. I do not wish to see any other man of Baal die before our eyes, while nothing is being done about it.”
She stormed through the door. The men looked at Tanios, uncertain what to do next. “Wait for me at the bottom of the stairs. I want to ask you a few questions,” said Tanios.
The men complied, filing out of the room. Tanios remained alone with the dead man.
“You do not have to worry, my dear Bahiya, this was the last one,” he whispered.
He looked out the window and watched the end of the eclipse. “And now, I wonder what is to happen next. Nothing will ever be the same.”
Ahiram drew near the pair of wings, cautious not to step in the Pool of Purification. He moved slowly at first, then sped up as the prospect of winning excited him. He was so close.
“They are beautiful; they look like the wings of a Zaril Andali, the bird of the blue sky.”
Ahiram conceived the image in his mind and froze instantly, his senses heightened. He remembered Habael’s dream, the dream the old man had recounted four days ago while they were in the kitchen at breakfast. He could hear Habael word for word.
“You know, lad, the other night I had a dream. I was crossing a suspended bridge, and I looked down into the water. Lo and behold, I saw a bird: a big, beautiful, crystal bluebird. But when I drew closer, I realized the bird was dead and decaying.”
Thank you, Master Habael, thought Ahiram. “A crystal bluebird in the waters and a big disappointment,” he muttered. He stepped aside, walked back to the platform, and peered into the water. He picked up a smooth, palm-sized rock. Standing on the stairs of the platform, he threw the rock. It arced in the air and hit the wings sideways, jerking them out of place. Nothing happened. So they’re not trying to kill me with a boulder or fire, thought the Silent as he walked back toward the wings. He leaned over and examined the upturned wings carefully and found what he was looking for: the wings were tied to a thin thread, nearly invisible in the water.
Ahiram followed it until he reached the back of the cave where the water trickled down moss-covered, smooth stones from somewhere above. The thread disappeared inside a crevice. Ahiram stood back, crouched, and yanked it. He heard the twang of crossbows being released and saw a volley of arrows shoot out from a concealed opening.
The arrows soared overhead and were lost, deep within the cave.
Ahiram shuddered. “Had I picked up the wings, these arrows would have found their mark.”
An arrow whizzed by. Four men of Baal attacked from the riverside. Two of them had bows in their hands, the third a spear, and the fourth a sword. “The Joyful Four,” whispered the Silent as he leaped forward. The Joyful Four was a popular song about four drunkards who tried, but failed, to share a lone bottle they found while in the desert, and ended up dying of thirst instead. By extension, a group of clumsy men was often given this dubious sobriquet.
A second arrow whizzed by him and rebounded harmlessly off the walls. Thankfully, the path ahead was a narrow, winding passage slanting upward away from the water. Ahiram ran quickly, dodging the arrows. Soon, the sandy ground gave way to stairs hewn in the rock. They were made of large, irregular slabs of dissimilar height. The Silent bounded up the stairs, and as they turned slightly to the left, he stopped in his tracks. At the top of the stairs, seven men of Baal were waiting for him with spears and swords. His pursuers were fast approaching. Ahiram was trapped.
“Woe to him who tastes the bitter chalice of a curse. His eyes will turn into lakes of fire, his ears will shed blood, and he will wither away faster than the leaves of fall, until, at last, nothing shall be left of him but an eternal scream of horror.”
–Teaching of Oreg, High Priest of Baal
“Taxes, meetings, and curses—they are real, you know. You can’t avoid taxes, but their effect is temporary. You must avoid curses, for they are permanent. As for meetings, let’s just say they cannot be avoided, and their debilitating effect is permanent.”
–Diplomatic Notes of Uziguzi, First Adviser to Her Majesty Aylul Meir Pen, Empress of the Empyreans
“Open this door,” snapped Ramel, unable to contain her excitement. “I can hardly wait.”
Two weeks before the Games, Garu had found the secret passage at the base of the Lone Tower. This led down steep, spiraling stairs to the Pool of Purification in the Mine of Meyroon, where two hours earlier, Ahiram had been cornered by his adversaries. Now, Garu finally discovered the second secret door—the one he had been looking for while in the Star Room: a simple, stone slab standing to the left of the stairs Ahiram had climbed when running away from the soldiers. This hidden door opened onto a slanted path that meandered downward a long way and ended in a huge cave. Garu and Ibromaliöm presently lit the dozen torches they brought with them. Not surprisingly, they found sconces on the walls to hang them. They had correctly reasoned that the room they were seeking must have been part of a larger hidden complex.
As the torches lit, they were startled by two gold dragons standing on bronze pedestals opposite each other. The statues towered overhead fully erect, their wings jutting forward and touching in the center, forming a bronze canopy.
“It’s a temple to the god Tanniin,” whispered Ramel.
Two sma
ller statues stood farther back, where the door to the temple lay. The huge door had been sealed off by rocks and dirt. The back wall bulged in several places under the ground pressure, and the ground was littered with rocks and debris of smashed vases. A marble statue lay on the ground, having lost its head, and two silver platters, mangled by the rocks, lay next to it. A jar offering made of stone lay smashed; its silver coins scattered. They gleamed gently in the light.
“Someone went to great lengths to seal the main passage,” observed Ibromaliöm.
“And then the temple was forgotten,” added Ramel, in a sad voice.
“Your Majesty,” called Garu, “you should see this.”
Ramel and Ibromaliöm walked to the front of the temple where the main altar stood inside a sanctuary nearly sixty feet in diameter. Behind a wide stone altar stood a statue of Tanniin, unlike any they had seen before: the god was perched on a chariot from which Baal was missing. His wings overextended, the dragon crooned in a shout of glory.
“Tanniin overthrowing Baal from his heavenly chariot,” explained Ramel, speaking softly. “Never before have I seen this.”
“This temple is old,” observed Ibromaliöm, as he refrained a sudden shiver. The cold and damp air did nothing to comfort him.
Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) Page 40