Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (3 page)

“Syreen, is that you? I barely recognized you.”

Ahiram’s eyes bulged like saucepans and his jaw dropped. Was this tall, young woman the scrawny, little, freckled girl he used to scare by getting spiders to crawl up her arms?
Perhaps she remembers
, he thought, guilty as a drunken sailor.
What am I to do?

Hoda and Syreen engaged in animated conversation while Ahiram manned the booth. He kept glancing nervously at Syreen, wondering if she remembered the spiders. Whenever she had visited with Hoda, his sister would shoo him away gently, and sit with her friend on his favorite branch atop his favorite oak. Deprived of his sister’s company, he would mope around, miserable and lonely; hence the spiders.

Speaking with a voice as polite as a shining pair of boots in the Temple’s hall, he called out to Syreen, “Miss Syreen, please accept this morsel of shark meat in reparation for all the spiders I put on your arms.” He held the meat the way his mother held an offering in the Temple of Baal, as though Syreen were a goddess, and he a humble supplicant.

Syreen looked at Ahiram, then at Hoda, and realizing who he was and what he had just said, burst out in laughter. “Is this Ahiram, Hoda? My goodness, he is so grown and so cute.” Before he could react, Syreen walked inside their booth, gave him a prolonged hug—she smelled of cinnamon and sweet oil—and a sonorous kiss.

Nobody does this but Hoda
, he thought, offended. Kisses were the privileged province of his sister—and his mother, of course—but no one else. Syreen, seeing him pouting, burst out laughing and tousled his hair.

Why do they keep messing up my hair?
he thought
. Mother will have a fit when she sees me.

“Hoda, I was so jealous of you growing up,” said Syreen. “I am an only child and your brother was so cuddly when he was a baby. I often imagined taking him home with me, you know.”

Hoda smiled and winked at Ahiram. “Look at you now, Syreen, the second maid to the first priestess of the Temple of Baalbeck. I am so happy for you.”

Syreen’s eyes clouded for a brief moment. “We work on rotation,” she replied evenly. “Three months in, three months out.”

“That’s odd, why don’t they keep you all year round?”

Syreen sighed. “Let’s just say that our load is unusually demanding.”

Hoda gazed into her friend’s eyes, and knew not to ask more questions.
What are you hiding from me, Syreen?
wondered the young woman.
You are so restrained right now, I feel I am talking to a shadow of you. What have they done to you at the Temple?

“Morning of goodness,” said a young man, utilizing the traditional Fineekian greeting. “Syreen, I hope I am not interrupting.”

“Oh, Hoda,” said Syreen with a twinkle in her eye, “I’d like you to meet my cousin, Karadon.”

“Morning of light,” said Hoda, giving the usual response. She looked at Karadon, and with no prior warning, fell in love… just like that. Or rather, fell into eternity. The world came to a stand-still, and Karadon’s green eyes became the Great Sea carrying her to the ends of the earth. In that moment, Hoda knew all she needed to know about the world; it was passing away like grass, green today and burned tomorrow, but the surpassing power of love endures like an eternal river flowing from heart to heart. In that moment—that one perfect moment—Hoda found her center, the meaning of her life, and the purpose for which she was created: to love and be loved. Words, trivial and often destitute, shone with an everlasting light she had not known existed.

Karadon, awestruck, knew then that all he had lost would be restored to him: his village razed and burned to the ground by the High Riders of the Temple of Baal, his parents and all his friends massacred by the soldiers, and his shattered childhood. All of it, one day, would be healed and restored. Unexpectedly, the pain he had endured all these years began to lift. Karadon had just found his anchor, his strength, the woman of his life, and he knew, with the certainty of the heavens, that they were destined to be together.

On that bright, early morning of the month of Kislev, when the waning summer yearns to light up the forest with the mellifluous colors of fall, life in the eyes of Karadon and Hoda was a recollected lake beneath the heavens, and their gaze a fluttering sail tugging at a ship making ready for an unexpected journey to last a lifetime.

“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.