Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (21 page)

“Arif has connections, and besides, that’s where you’ll find the best ale. Anyway, while there, I heard that liberation will soon be at hand. The underground movement is ready to free us from Baal. All they need is a signal to rouse the people. The Baalites have increased their patrols. They do not feel as comfortable in our streets as they used to. Even the King wants Baal to win.”

“The King?” The first arbitrator was shocked.

“Of course. Where have you been these last few years?”

“Well, you know me, when I am not arbitrating or serving as a guide, I am up there with the shepherds.”

“Oh yes, I forgot, you are one of
them
.”

“What do you mean? Oh, never mind, tell me about the King.”

“Without the Baalites, I tell you, he would be as much of a King as a dead fish. Baal maintains him in power and he knows it. In fact, he sacrifices also to… you know… the foreign god.”

“He does?”

“Yes, why do you think he is childless?”

“No. That would be taking it too far.”

Ahiram sighed. The arbitrators were known for their gullibility. They were ready to believe anything and everything. That the King had sympathy toward Baal was obvious, but that he sacrificed his newborn children to Baal was simply not true. The Silent were guardians of the castle; they knew more than people thought they did. Arbitrators liked to mistake goats for children.

“Tell me then,” continued the first arbitrator, “Why did the King give the team of Baal a map revealing where the shoes are hidden in the Hall of Rippling Pillars?”

Ahiram froze. If the team of Baal knew where every pair was, they may have picked up all the bronze shoes. He would already have lost. Before the second arbitrator had a chance to speak, Ahiram leaped and stood between them.

“Is this true?” he asked, as if he had been part the conversation

The startled men jumped from fright, seeing Ahiram appear out of nowhere.

“Is what true?” asked the second arbitrator in a shaky voice.

“What you said about the map and the location of the shoes?”

The chubby man opened his eyes wide. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Ahiram pinned him against the wall while keeping an eye on the first. “Is this true?” He relaxed his hold and continued quietly, almost on a friendly note: “If you do not want Baal to win, you had better help me, if I win, then the team from Baalbeck will lose.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” repeated the man, glancing quickly behind the Silent’s back.

In one swift movement, Ahiram lifted the man, pivoted sideways and threw him on top of the three attackers who were creeping up behind him. “Prince Olothe,” said Ahiram, anger flaring in his eyes, “I should have guessed.”

The prince was moving slowly, quiet as a cat, sword in hand, when the arbitrator crashed into him and his men. By the time the prince managed to get the screaming arbitrator off of him, Ahiram had disappeared.

“O my soul, fear the poison of envy, for it will burn your heart and tear you apart. Envy is, and will always be, your worst enemy.”

–
Book of Lamentation, chapter 9, verse 7

“Fools, idiots, incompetents!” Olothe exclaimed, as he brushed the sand off his clothes. He looked at his team. “Wait until I get my hands on those three monkeys I stationed by the entrance. I enjoined them to kill him, and look, the slave is ahead of us. Well, what are you waiting for? After him.”

His men looked at him and then looked at all the pathways that sprang out of the Hall of Meetings.

“Which way?” asked one of them hesitantly. “He could be anywhere.”

“He went this way,” said the second arbitrator, pointing out one of the pathways.

Immediately, the three men bolted down the path. The prince picked up his sword and looked at the two arbitrators. “Say a word about what happened here and your ears are gone.” He whipped the air with his sword a hair’s breadth away from their ears. “Understood?”

“Yes, Your Highness, yes,” stammered the second arbitrator. The first was trying to control the clattering of his teeth.

“Very well, then. You said this way?”

“Yes, Your Highness, this way.”

“I hope for your sakes that you are not lying.”

Presently, Ahiram was in the Hall of Rippling Pillars, a large triangular space where a stack of smooth, round slabs stood in all three corners. A shaft of light flooded the area around each stack, and the combined reflection of the three sources on the glittering ceiling lit the hall with a soft-amber light. The stacks were sixteen feet high, and of unknown origin and purpose. The Silent was crouching on top of the northeastern pile. Having finished surveying the room, he stood up. The shoes of bronze were nowhere to be found.

Most likely, the team of Baal grabbed all of them,
thought Ahiram.
Right before they leave the mine, they’ll keep one pair and drop the rest.

Carrying more than one pair while in the mine was licit, but leaving the mine with
more
than one meant instant disqualification.

I have to reach them before they get out
, thought Ahiram. He was about to jump when Olothe and his men entered the room. One of them inspected the ground.

“So?” asked Olothe, exasperated. “Where is he?”

Ahiram was lying on the flat rock.
What madness possesses
this man?
he wondered.
Why is he so hell-bent on stopping me? I am beginning to think his mission is to kill me, but why? What does he have to gain?

“Not too far, Your Highness,” replied his teammate.

Ahiram preferred not to confront the prince, but Olothe, it seemed, did not leave him any choice.

This one knows how to read tracks. Better get rid of him first
, thought the Silent.

Olothe’s acolyte was still inspecting the ground, while the prince and the two others were watching him. He drew closer to the pile of rocks, where Ahiram was perched. After hesitating for a second, he lifted his head to inspect the rock. At that moment, Ahiram jumped and landed a few feet away from him. The Silent’s opponent reacted swiftly, faster than Ahiram had anticipated, so his kick landed on the shoulder rather than the head. Nonetheless, it was strong enough. The prince’s teammate fell, moaning with pain.

The two others charged Ahiram, with the one on his right being slightly faster than the one on his left. He waited for the first attacker to come within reach and pivoted quickly, grabbing his opponent by his shirt and propelling him against the rock. The man slammed hard on the surface and crumpled to the ground. Ahiram reversed his pivot, shifting his body so that his back was purposely turned to the prince. He treated the second man like the first, with good results.

Olothe took advantage of the situation and charged Ahiram with his sword over his head. This is what Ahiram was hoping for. He bent backward, letting the blade whiz over him harmlessly. Then, as the prince’s arm moved away from Ahiram, exposing Olathe’s side and back, he kicked the prince in the side, throwing him onto the floor. He followed through with three powerful blows that caused Olothe to reel in pain. Ahiram kicked the sword away, and as the prince tried to lift himself up, Ahiram kicked him in the face. The prince fell flat on his back, unconscious. Ahiram heard a rustle behind him and crouched down. The first attacker slung a jagged rock at him, which ripped into his shoulder, sending a shock of pain deep into his joint. He turned around, ignoring the pain, and delivered a powerful blow that knocked his opponent down. Ahiram took off running, but the pain in his sliced shoulder was acute and he knew it would hinder him from reaching Hiyam and her team before the exit. Reluctantly, he stopped in a secluded alcove to dress the wound—the gash was deep. He opened the pouch that Master Habael had given him, and gently applied the pungent, dark red paste. His shoulder burned, but he knew the medicine would have its effect soon. He secured the pouch back in his belt and resumed his sprint.

Outside the mines, fervor had reached its peak. Baal’s team members were in the lead with the slave on their heels. They were fast approaching the exit. The sun had gone past midday and the artists, despite their excellent performances, drew distracted applause from the audience. The crowd was worried; many had bet on Baal. A few fools chose the slave with odds of fifty-to-one. Habael was smiling. Some paced nervously, while others sat by the entrance, which doubled as the exit, for the trajectory in the mine was a loop starting and ending at the same entryway.

Ahiram stopped to catch his breath. He had to admit that the team of Baal was fast. Unnaturally so. He looked up and saw the shortcut. It bypassed the honeycomb labyrinth by moving in a near-straight line, rejoining the main passage one hundred yards from the exit. Its entrance was a narrow hole hidden from view, forty feet above ground, and to reach it, Ahiram had to climb along a flat wall with grooves so tiny that he could grip them with only the tips of his fingers. Few could climb this wall, which is why the arbitrators were unaware of the passage’s existence. Ahiram reached the top and went through the hole gritting his teeth as the rough edge scratched his shoulder. He stood on a narrow ledge and jumped over a five-foot gap into a corridor wide enough for only one man. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he bounded forward. Catching up with the team of Baal was what mattered now.

There was a sizable crowd waiting eagerly by the exit, kept back by a row of arbitrators keeping the excessively curious from entering the mine. Suddenly, the crowd became agitated, as an arbitrator, still panting, burst out of the mines. He had news. The arbitrators guarding the exit commanded the crowd to move back. Slowly, a comfortable space opened up. The crowd looked at the arbitrator, who stood bent down, hands on his knees, waiting for his breathing to calm down. He stood up, tried to speak, but could not. He waited a little longer. Finally, he stood erect and spoke in a loud voice:

“The team of Baal is in the lead. They are twenty minutes away from the exit and…” He took another deep breath. The crowd tensed, “The team of Quibanxe is in second position, an hour behind.”

The crowd relaxed, cheered, and recovered its festive mood. Men and women boasted to whoever would listen that all along they knew that Hiyam and her team would win the Games. Some shook their heads at their own credulity that led them to imagine that the slave could have been a serious threat to the well trained Junior High Riders. Master Habael, who was listening to a fat and sweaty woman ranting through a similar monologue, did not smile. He was starting to worry.
Could the lad have failed this simple test?

Inside the mines, Hiyam and her team relaxed their pace. Early on, they had taken the lead and no one challenged them. This first Game would be an easy win for them. They felt a cool draft flowing toward them, an indication that they were nearing the exit. Shortly after, one of them pointed to a small source of light ahead. It was indeed, the exit. They all cheered. Their strongest man had all eleven pairs of miniature, bronze shoes strung around his neck, and they surrounded him on all sides, forming a strong barrier against any would-be attacker. They went under a natural bridge, talking excitedly about the prospect of winning the Games, when three small, white clouds billowed from the ground at their feet. They were caught in a fit of sneezing and coughing. A dark shape leaped from the bridge, lithe as a snake, and a dagger whizzed by, slicing the laces of the bronze shoes. Ahiram snatched one pair and threw the rest at his opponents. Before they understood what had happened, he thrust his way through them and ran toward the exit. He heard Hiyam yell an order, but only two men were able to run after him, being less affected by the coughing powder. Ahiram ran faster. He had to outrun them, which was no easy feat given that these men were among the fastest runners in the land, and his lacerated shoulder was throbbing. He thought about Hoda and felt a surge of renewed energy. He ran like he had never run before and dashed out of the mines with the two men on his heels. All three of them stopped amid the crowd, who cheered at first, and then fell dead quiet. The two men of the team of Baal moved toward Ahiram, but the trumpets sounded. “Make way, make way for the judges!” The tension eased a little. The four judges reached the circle and looked at Ahiram.