Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (56 page)

Meanwhile, somewhere in the castle, a secret pathway closed silently behind a nocturnal shadowy figure stalking the dark corridors of Taniir-The-Strong.

“The sun is the seat of Baal’s power. There, the god of the heavens issues his edicts—to bless the human race with fertility and peace or to rain on them the fire of his wrath. Understand then: the occlusion of the sun is the Pit stirring and the birth of a new order.”

–
Introduction to the Book of Knowledge, Ussamiah the Togofalkian

“Eclipse this, eclipse that, of what use is an eclipse to me? I wish someone could eclipse that matronly Togofalkian over there. She is about to pilfer the grilled chicken. Now that would be useful. It would fill my belly and let me sleep at night. But alas! That plump woman is the royal cook who prepares the chicken.”

–
Soliloquy of Zuzu the Hip, Jester of the Royal Court of Tanniin

Earlier that morning and shortly after the last athlete leaped into the canyon, the King and his retinue made their way back to Taniir-the-Strong along a road that overlooked the dense forest of the castle’s surroundings.

The sky was of a deep azure without the slightest cloud, and a clean breeze carried a bouquet of refreshing scents as if the mountain wanted to rejoice in the last days of summer.

“Isn’t the forest gorgeous, my dear Bahiya?” asked the King.

Bahiya gazed admiringly at the sea of trees surrounding them. Baalbeck lay in a flat plain where trees were sparse. Since she and Tanios had walked into the Sondarion, the greatest of all forests, she had been attracted by the silent mystery that hung like a shadow in the depth of the forest. A longing suddenly came upon her, and she wished she could leave the path and wander beneath the lush, green canopy. The strength of this whimsical desire surprised and overwhelmed her, filling her mind with dazzling scenes from the forest; places she knew she would never see. She pictured herself standing in a quiet clearing beneath trees whose girth took her breath away. She saw herself gently floating up to the treetops, and then still higher in the air, until the forest gleamed like an emerald. She was vaguely aware of Jamiir’s presence, but his frame dissolved slowly until she could see him no more. In her vision, she was flying over the trees as they flowed down rolling hills to the edge of a two-mile-high abyss.

“Bahiya, beware. Beware, Bahiya.”

The voice was distant, weak, and she knew she was in danger, but it was already too late. The trap had closed shut, and she was a prisoner. Still, she tried to fight the flood of images pounding her with greater intensity as she hovered uncertainly at the edge of the chasm. Something crashed through the trees behind her. She wanted to ignore it, knowing it was an illusion, but her hair stood on end when she felt its presence behind her.

In the split second that her fear surged, the power that had brought her into the spell world yanked the entire cliff forward. She fell with the trees into the void as the green avalanche rolled and exploded into a giant wave that carried her forward at terrifying speed. The landscape around her was of Tanniin, but while her body stood next to the King, her mind had been pulled into the spell world. This was a magical kidnapping that required skills beyond most mortals. Once this visual spell had overtaken the mind and forced it to focus on these images, the victim could not break free without external intervention.

The source of this magic is in the northwest,
she thought. This meant that in real life, the perpetrator was physically located in the northwestern region of Tanniin. Bahiya watched the forest surge forward, heading north by northwest, and she was powerless to stop it. She reached the edge of the main road that ran the length of the kingdom from north to south.
The forest
, she thought, aghast, gazing at the trees to the east,
they are turning gray.

Her kidnapper let her hover over the road for ten hours. In the spell world, the passing of time was omnipresent and accurate.
He wants me to focus on the road. The monotony of the same image repeating itself will increase his control over me
. She gritted her teeth but could not resist. Eventually, he forced her to fly over the road, and the forest to her right became a green blur while the trees to her left turned into a gray fog and the road ahead a dirty yellow strip. “When the images become solid bands of color, the prey is moments away from meeting its predator.” She was quoting Sureï the Sorcerer, and knew her will was about to fall prey to her predator. She would become a puppet in his hands and do his bidding. Magdala, the forbidden forest, came into full view east of the road, when she heard a voice speak a word of command. “Let the link be broken.”

A blinding, white flash shattered the image. She heard a distant scream of rage and anger, and her mind became blissfully dark. When she opened her eyes, she was still standing next to the King. He was looking ahead, lost in his thoughts, and had not taken notice of her. At first she feared he had been captured by the same attacker, but when he blinked, she knew this was not so. The assault had been directed at her and her alone.

The King looked at her and she smiled. Bahiya’s steely eyes did not flinch, nor did she let her demeanor betray her inner turmoil. She was experienced enough with the harrowing pain of magical acts to conceal her suffering. Traveling in and out of the spell world was a punishing experience, and the slow passage of time was integral to the suffering.
A minute here can be several days over there.
She reminded herself that a ten-hour visit was a mere thirty seconds, no more. She was exhausted, as if she had physically endured a ten-hour-long trial, but she kept her composure.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I agree that the forest is gorgeous,” she replied with a faint smile.

They resumed their walk in silence.

Up ahead, the Lone Tower surged over the forest, its diamond-shaped Star Room glittering in the morning sun despite the shutters marring its arched windows. Bahiya profited from the silence to raise a protective cloak around her mind.
They will find it a lot harder to pull me in the next time around,
she thought. She felt a surge of gratitude to her anonymous savior.
Could it have been…?
She stopped short before saying a name for fear of exposing a deeply held secret.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” asked the King, grinning.

She had to agree. It was a lovely morning, fresh and breezy on this Sin, Tébêt 7, 1197. Most farmers knew that a massive storm hid behind the exceptional weather they were enjoying now. Storms during the month of Tébêt were as violent as they were rare. The locals called them
Baraak Sil Tanniin
(Tannin’s Wrath).

Bahiya focused her attention on the attack. Someone had managed to bring her into the spell world by exploiting a mere whim she had. A consummate Kerta priest would need hours to accomplish this feat, yet her attacker did it in seconds
. There are three people with that kind of power: High Priest Sharr of Babylon, Sarand the Soloist, head of the Adorant, and
Galliöm
, Master of the Tajéruun. But what would any one of them be doing in the northern region of Tanniin?

Baal was known by many names. Majaar was his title as Lord of the Plenty; and the Temple of Baal Majaar in Babylon was a microcosm, a miniature replica of the universe. In size, it was two hundred and ten
s
î
zu
long (a sacred measure of roughly two-thirds of a foot, used only inside the Temple) and 143 sîzu wide. These measurements encompassed the first seven prime numbers representing the seven planets the priests saw from their Star Room: the seven heavens of the gods.

Set atop
Ishtar Elis
—Ishtar’s Hill—opposite the suspended garden, the temple dominated the sprawling city of Babylon, for no other building was allowed to exceed its height. The outer walls were of a deep topaz, etched with golden
Karubiim
(winged lions—the charioteers of Baal). They stood with outstretched wings, shining beneath the gleaming sun. Its thirty-foot-tall bronze cupola rose still higher. Cast from a singular mold by skilled dwarfs, it symbolized the sun, the center of the universe, and the god Baal, ruler of the world.

Inside the rectangular building, thirty giant pillars held the thirty-foot-high, gold-plated roof. Roughly twenty feet from the walls, a marble egg-shaped platform rose to a height of ten feet. Accessible by golden stairs, this was the Outer Circle reserved for the priests and the chanters. Two choirs of fifty singers each stood along its eastern and western rims, separated by fifty hooded drummers kneeling behind their instruments. A mosaic of a glittering mantis adorned it center—a tribute to Mirandu, the goddess of fertility. Behind the mosaic rose was a second raised platform. Made of silver, it carried the massive golden altar of Baal accessible only to the priests of the Inner Circle.

A gong reverberated in the temple, and High Priest Sharr walked from behind the altar followed by his assistant, Kalibaal, priest of the Inner Circle. The midday ritual was about to begin. The high priest wore a gilded, ruby-studded coat with wide short sleeves over a long, white gown embroidered with golden thread. A high-pointed, rigid bonnet hid his balding head. The left side of the bonnet featured the god Baal holding a scepter, while the right side showed Baal standing with a thunderbolt raised aloft. He bowed several times before the large, black stone altar, then took the seven-branched acacia censer to incense the massive gold statue of the celestial god crossing the rainbow driven by winged lions. The chariot was at the zenith, and the god standing erect was blessing the whole world with his scepter. Beneath his chariot, a thunderbolt hung ominously, reminding man of Baal’s wrath.

“Eternal Prince, lord of all being, guide in a straight path the Temple whom thou loveth…Thou hast raised us, entrusting us with dominion over all people. By thy command, merciful Baal, may thy Temple, which I have built, endure for all time…From the horizon of heaven to its zenith, may it have no enemies.”

Kalibaal stood behind Sharr, holding a velvet pillow where three seals of jasper and carnelian lay encased in gold crevices. He was wearing a gown similar to Sharr’s, under a simpler silver coat and no headdress.

“May thy enemies be smitten, O lord, and may thy Temple’s day be resplendent,” he replied in a tremulous voice. He picked up one of the seals—commonly known as
scarabs
in Babylon—with a gold pincher and placed it on the surface of the water inside a large blue marble bowl sitting on the altar. Four pyramidal mountains etched in gold graced the bowl’s rim.

A cow with a suckling calf occupied the main part of the seal, which had a hatched exergue standing for the celestial mountain of the god.

“From your servants, accept this offering, O Lord,” intoned Sharr.

The choir to the right of Sharr was composed of fifty priests, many of whom were women. They began humming a single word, “Baal,” continuously. They wore white tunics, and unlike the two priests of the Inner Circle who wore ornamented, closed shoes, these priests of the Outer Circle stood barefoot. The drummers, all male priests of the Outer Circle, maintained a slow, steady beat, symbolizing the living heart of the god.