Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (4 page)

The sale of shark meat in Byblos was strictly controlled, requiring express permission from the high priestess and Jabbar—Hoda and Ahiram’s father—was one of the few chosen ones to receive Bahiya’s approval. Still, he knew his fellow villagers very well, and, as such, contributed more than his fair share to the common purse. “You can get rich alone,” he told his children, “or you can be rich with friends and family. Choose wisely.”

“Hoda.”

She had just finished setting up her booth, looked up and smiled when she saw Syreen, but her smile turned into veiled disappointment when she did not see Karadon.

“My cousin sends his greetings,” said her friend with a sheepish smile. “He wanted to come with me, you know, for the shark meat, and just in case there was a bit more scrubbing to do, but he had to go out of town. He will be back next week.” Hoda nodded. Her friend continued, “I can’t stay for very long, and this is not the right place to talk. Could you come over after hours for a short visit?”

“I would love to, Syreen, but Ahiram is punished again. He got into a terrible fight and I am—”

“It is about your brother,” cut in Syreen. “I have news. Please come.” Hoda held her breath and looked at her friend who read her anguish. “I think we found a way to help him. I will tell you later.”

“Who’s
we
?” asked Hoda, confused.

Syreen cocked her head and gave her friend a reproachful gaze, “Karadon and I, silly. Who else?”

Hoda felt a wave of gratitude surge from within. She was relieved, relieved that she did not have to carry that weight alone. Ever since he was a baby, Ahiram had given Hoda his best smiles and his most tender coos, and when he became a toddler, she gave him a doll Syreen had made for her: a goat with two tiny bells. Immediately, he named it “Doda,” and he and Doda became inseparable for years.

When Ahiram turned eight, the nightmares began, and he would run to Hoda crying. Then came the bad temper and the stormy rage and the brawls that became more frequent. It broke Hoda’s heart to see him tormented, and she did everything in her power to ease his pain and protect him. Then, Arfaad, the captain of the High Riders, told her father that unless Ahiram learned to control his temper, he might end up dead in a dark alley one day. His words sent a chill to her heart.

Hoda could hardly wait for the market to close. Finally, after cleaning and closing the booth, she hastened to Syreen’s house. Leaving the main thoroughfare, she went to Astarte Street, and just as she was about to cross Melkart Street, she saw the stranger who had wanted to buy Ahiram’s medallion. He was leaning against the wall across the street. As soon as their eyes met, he started walking toward her. Entranced, she watched him get closer, unable to move, when a bucketful of cold water fell on the man, drenching him. They both looked up and saw only deserted balconies. Not waiting, Hoda ran.
What’s wrong with
me?
she wondered.
What is that man doing to me?

Hoda sped through the busy roads of Byblos, zigzagging through a series of narrow streets until she reached the back alley behind Syreen’s house. She knocked at a narrow, low door and was relieved to see her friend. This was the back door to Syreen’s parents’ expansive and expensive home, the door the two girls preferred to the ornate, marble front entrance.

“Hoda, are you alright? Did you run?”

“Yes,” said the young woman breathlessly, “I ran into the man who wanted to buy Ahiram’s medallion as I was crossing Melkart Street.”

“How did he know you were coming this way?” asked Syreen after taking a quick peek into the alley; it was deserted.

“I don’t know. And the way he looked at me…” she shivered.

“Come, I have hot tea steeping in my room. Let’s sit and talk like we used to do when we were little.”

Hoda smiled and followed her friend to her large bedroom, where they sat on a sea of brightly colored pillows surrounded by a cheerful collection of dolls.

“I love these,” said Hoda, admiring her friend’s handiwork. “They are beautiful, Syreen. You know, Ahiram had your Doda for two full years before he lost it in the sea. It was as if he had lost…”

“You?” completed Syreen. “Hoda, I know how much you care for him, and I am here to help.”

“Thank you, Syreen,” replied Hoda. “I really do think your dolls are amazing. You are so talented.”

“Hoda, all that is mine is yours, but customers must purchase them from Master Kwadil. He is my exclusive distributor.”

“Master Kwadil—wait, what? Kwadil?
The
Kwadil from the world famous ‘Caravan from Beyond’? Are you serious?”

“Actually, I am. I needed silk cloth, and he had the best silk money could buy. He asked me what I would do with it, and I showed him my dolls. He told me to make as many as I could and that he would buy them all.”

“Wonderful. It means you can retire from the Temple and run your own shop.”

“It’s a possibility,” Syreen replied evasively. “Now listen, about that man—I felt it too.”

“That weird feeling? Like someone roping your emotions and pulling you to him, even though you really don’t want to go that way?”

“You are perceptive, Hoda. It is an Enchantment Spell,” explained Syreen calmly.

Hoda gasped. “An Enchantment Spell? How did you find out?”

Syreen smiled. “Hoda, as a maid to the first priestess, I received basic training in the detection of simple spells. You would not believe the number of people willing to risk their lives to sway or charm the first priestess.”

“Why the first priestess?” asked Hoda, whose curiosity got the better of her. “Why not the high priestess?”

Fear shot through Syreen’s eyes. “Bahiya? No one would dare use an Enchantment Spell on her; she is too powerful.”

“So this man, he was…”

“Yes, using a spell. He wants your brother’s medallion at all cost.”

Hoda looked at her, alarmed.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Syreen, choosing her words carefully, “that he tried to buy it from your brother and failed. Next, he will try to enchant you into bringing him the medallion, and if all else fails, he will try to steal it by any means necessary.”

“What?” said Hoda, scared. “But why? What is going on?”

“You’re not going to like what I have to say. Still, I think it is good news… of sorts.”

“Syreen, please tell me. What did you find out?”

“Promise me you will tell no one. You cannot share what I am about to tell you with anyone: not with Ahiram, not with your parents, nor anyone else.”

“I promise,” she said breathless. “Now, please tell me.”

“Hoda, this medallion is… well, it may be a magical artifact.”

“What?” exclaimed Hoda. Blood drained from her face. She stood up and backed away from her friend.

Syreen went to her, held her hand, and looked her in the eyes. “I know what you are thinking, Hoda, but I am your friend. If I wanted to alert the Temple, you and your family would be dead by now.”

“Why didn’t you?” asked Hoda, still panicked. “You work for the Temple, and we were all told, ever since we were little, that whenever we find someone with a magical artifact, we had to tell the Temple. You are risking your life and your family for us. Why?”

“I have my reasons, Hoda. You said it yourself; I work for the Temple and have access to the first priestess.” Syreen repeated slowly, “If I wanted to let the Temple know, I would have done so already.” At that, Hoda relaxed her stance somewhat.

“Hoda, please hear me, then decide whether you should trust me or not. As I said, Hoda, it is a possibility. We are not certain, but there is a very easy way to check. Tonight, when Ahiram is sleeping, take the medallion off of him. If the medallion is not magical, nothing will happen.”

“And if it is, what would happen?”

“Well, we are not certain,” continued Syreen. She hated this conversation and the pain she was causing her friend, but it could not be helped. “You might see improvement in Ahiram’s behavior or…”

“Or what?”

“Well, we are not sure. Look, wait for Ahiram to fall asleep, then take the medallion from him.”

“Why not ask him to let me have his medallion for the night? Ahiram would do anything for me.”

“That’s the thing. We need you to take it from him without his consent. If the medallion is a magical artifact, it will cause a reaction.”

“Will Ahiram be harmed?”

“We don’t think so because the medallion would still be close.”

Hoda shivered. “So, if Ahiram consented to sell his medallion to that man yesterday…”

“Exactly. He must not, under any circumstance, lose this medallion until we find out more. Listen, Hoda, if the Temple catches wind of this, they will, at the very least, kill your entire family, or worse, destroy the whole village and everyone in it. We must act fast.”

“But I don’t understand,” cut in Hoda. “Ahiram has had this medallion from birth. Mother said that she bought it from Master Kwadil, that it is a trinket to ward off the evil eye.”

Syreen averted her eyes and did not answer.

“But why would my mother tell a lie?”

“Maybe your mother is telling the truth, and maybe this is a trinket. There is no sense worrying about this until we know more.”

“How will I know that the first priestess did not ask you to do this, and once you find out, the High Riders, they…”

Syreen laughed a bitter, sarcastic laugh. “Hoda, Hoda, you do not know the Temple; they have their ways—terrible ways—to locate any source of magic. They don’t need my help, believe you me.”

They gazed at each other for a short moment. Hoda sighed and spoke first. “Well, our lives are in your hands. I wouldn’t know what to do or whom to go to, even if I wanted to.”

“And I ask you to trust me. I have not changed, Hoda, I am still Syreen. What I said about Ahiram last week is true, I wanted to take him home with me, he was so cute, and the way he wanted to give me the shark meat because of the spiders…” tears welled up in Syreen’s eyes, “…such innocence, Hoda. It’s so precious.”

Hoda relaxed and smiled. “Thank you, Syreen. I will let you know as soon as I find out.”

“Take the tunnel to the beach,” advised Syreen.

“The tunnel we used to follow whenever we would sneak out of your house to go to the beach? Do you remember when your father caught us? The drubbing we got…”

Syreen smiled. “Yes,
that
passage. Follow it to the beach then go home that way.”

“But what do I do about that man? Maybe I should go to the High Riders?”

“That would not be wise; they would find out about the medallion. Instead, why don’t you tell your father that a man was following you? I know what your father is capable of when his anger flares.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Hoda, as she turned and headed down the stairway to the tunnel below. She then stopped and looked at her friend. “I know this will sound crazy, but part of me hopes that it
is
magical.”

“Because it would help explain your brother’s temper?”

“Yes,” confirmed Hoda. “It would give us something to work with.”

“Be strong now,” urged Syreen. “You are about to get some answers.”

Hoda smiled. “It is easy to have strength when you are fighting for someone you love, and when you have a good friend to help you.”

“And more than a friend,” said Syreen, a twinkle in her eyes. “You know Karadon is itching for some scrubbing and…”

Hoda blushed and stepped into the dark corridor. Up ahead she could see the crashing waves of an agitated sea. She walked through the tunnel onto a secluded beach; seeing that it was deserted, she sprinted home.

Four men rose from the ground and watched her run.

“Three Merilians are known to the dwarfs. Three medallions whose power surpasses that of the Temple. Three objects of deep magic beyond our understanding, beyond our reach, beyond the Powers of the Pit.”

–
Philology of the Dwarfs, Anonymous

Four thousand miles southwest of Fineekia, on the remote Island of Libra, the warden of the Empty Seat of the Librarian stood alone in the main hall of the Library. He was contemplating a medallion identical in every way to the medallion Ahiram was wearing, except for the position of the small black peg that was slightly off. This medallion was hanging by a simple nail above the ebony seat that no one had sat in since the days of Sureï the Sorcerer. Aside from the medallion and the seat, the building was completely empty, with the exception of an object floating up high in the main hall: a
libre
(a book) that no one had read for as long as anyone could remember. This was the
Libre Aharof
(the
Book of Power
) and whosoever could open and read it would control a magic so powerful it would make Baal’s artifice look like child’s play, a trick or even a mere trinket.