The Djinn (20 page)

What was he
hearing? Did the creature believe he would actually help it? His soul was lost
already, but he would not bring further condemnation upon it by allying himself
with the enemies of Jehovah. But what choice did he really have? He was
hopelessly outnumbered. He had no weapon.
Perhaps a ploy.

“
Wh
-what kind of service?” he asked, absently pressing
himself further against the wall. The stench of brimstone burned his nostrils
as the creature crouched down to look him in the eye.

“That,
mercenary, will be revealed in time,” said the Djinn coldly. “Right now, I need
your word. You have the same choice that each of these others had. You can join
us. Besides, I really have no desire to kill in the House of the Lord.”

 
“House of the Lord?”
Gerard asked. “Surely you jest. The only lord you worship is the Prince of
Darkness, vile creature.”

The
Djinn’s
head slumped down slightly, as if in thought. Then
silently, it arose to its full height and sighed.

“Nay, my friend.
I worship not the creatures of hell, but
Jesus Christ Himself,” it said aloud, no longer the rasping voice of a
spirit—but that of a man. It was a voice familiar to him, but he could not
place it. “I am not a servant of the devil, as you have believed, but one of
the Most High…and it is His hand alone that stays my blade against you. I would
gladly relieve your neck of the burden of its head for what you did to Isabella
and
Tufic
, but His mercy is now upon me and I can’t
bring myself to do what my heart commands me to do. So I say again, join us.”
It paused. “Please.”

Without waiting
for an answer, the Djinn reached up to his hood and pulled it from his head.
Black gloved fingers worked quickly,
unwrapping
the
dark shroud that covered his face. Slowly, imperceptibly, the grotesque
features of the man beneath the
Djinn’s
hood were
revealed and Gerard could do nothing but gawk in silence at the sight.

William De
L’ombre’s
leprous and scarred face stood in the place where
only moments before the Djinn had basked in his victory over his foe. The
brother of the baron himself had been Gregory’s demonic spirit of vengeance.

One by one, the
army of Djinn removed their hoods, revealing knights that had gone missing over
the last few months after encounters with the creature in battle. Gerard
recognized many of them. The one that had wanted to filet him with his sword
moved forward and unmasked himself—it was the imbecile knight Horatio. A second
later, the half-witted face of Samuel stood by his side.

“I should have
cut you down for what you did to my cousin, knave,” the knight growled. “But it
would be a dishonor to him to do so.”

Gerard’s mind
screamed silently from within his skull. This was lunacy. The very idea was
beyond preposterous. William was an invalid. He was dying of leprosy. How was
it possible that such a man could do the things that the Djinn had done?

The baron’s
brother bent down again to look Gerard in the face. The mercenary’s eyes caught
a glimmer of red trickling down William’s side. He was injured. By the way he
moved, Gerard could tell it was serious.

“My condition,”
said William to the mercenary’s unspoken
questions,
“has an interesting side effect. Contrary to popular belief, a leper doesn’t
randomly lose body parts. He loses them because he can feel no pain. When the
leper injures himself, the wound goes unnoticed, often rotting to the point
where amputation is necessary.”

“So that’s why
you could take such a beating and never seem to be affected by it,” said
Gerard, finally understanding.

The man who had
been the Djinn looked over to the approaching form of
Tufic
,
leaning on the shoulders of Isabella, as they entered into the sanctuary of the
church.

“Exactly.
Tufic
is a brilliant
physician and man of science. He has seen to it that my wounds are always
properly maintained,” William continued. “His experiments with the fungi known
as foxfire have provided me with extended periods of strength and spryness that
I would not ordinarily have. In addition, the mushroom provides a natural
phosphorous illumination that I’ve used on occasion to give myself the
otherworldly appearance that you know all too well.”

To his own
surprise, a burst of laughter exploded from the mercenary’s belly. Gerard knew
that he should be terrified, but seeing his great enemy before him now, he
couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been.

“This is just
too much,” Gerard said, stifling the laughter that welled up inside him. “I
can’t believe we fell for such a charade.”

Of course, it
all made perfect sense.
The creature’s knowledge of the
baron’s comings and goings.
His ability to always be
one step ahead of Gerard’s men.
His relationship with
the baron’s daughter.

The mercenary
had completely misinterpreted the secret liaison with Isabella for that of a
lover. In reality, it had been a doting uncle that was simply visiting his niece.
It was no secret to anyone that William and Isabella’s mother had been
hopelessly in love with each other. It must have been utter torment when his
parents announced the engagement of Gregory to the woman William desperately
desired.

Then, after her
mother’s death, William had naturally fawned over Isabella—that is, until he
was captured in battle by Saracen raiders and sold to a sheik as a slave. It
had been shortly after that, William had become infected with leprosy…a
punishment from God, the baron had said, for his betrayal at being adopted by
the Sheik Samir.

And now, after
all this time, William had mounted this great offensive against his brother’s
plans for an
Outremer
conquest. It
was sibling rivalry taken to an extreme level.

“Will you join
our cause, mercenary?” asked the leper, ignoring Gerard’s outburst.

Gerard pushed
himself off the floor and stood squarely before his captor. Suddenly, the
“demon” no longer seemed so horrifying. The leper’s shoulders hunched as the
injury to his gut bled out. William was no longer the formidable beast that had
threatened him at every turn. He was now only a dying man, determined to see
his brother’s plans fail.

His army, on
the other hand, was another thing entirely. He had seen many of these men fight
on a number of occasions. They were good.
Very good.
Gerard knew that there was only one means of escape from his present
circumstances—
join
the baron’s brother.

But it was the
one thing that he could not agree to. Not that he had any loyalty to Gregory.
Nor was he afraid of losing his soul, as
he
only
moments ago feared. No. The reason he could not agree to the
Djinn’s
demands was simple pride. He had been bested by a
foul cripple. He had been defeated by an unclean cretin who could hardly even
hold onto his sword, but for the medications the Saracen doctor had given him.
And it was for that reason that his own humiliation refused to agree to the
Djinn’s
terms.

“And if I don’t
join you?” he asked.

“The truth is
I’m not sure. I’m not a murderer,” said William. “But you would not be allowed
to leave here freely. Not until we’ve ended Gregory’s campaign and retrieved
the
Sefer
Yetzirah
.”

The Book of Creation?
Then, the Djinn had not secured the Book.
All was not yet lost for the baron’s plans. And, by William’s own admission, he
was reluctant to kill him. He had a chance. There was a chance he could escape
his fate after all.

Gerard paced
forward, dipping his head as if considering the leper’s proposition. The
djinni
spread apart, allowing him room to move freely. The
mercenary stopped beside the small frame of a young knight named Adam that
Gerard knew to be inexperienced.

“You see my
dilemma, don’t you?” asked Gerard, turning to face his nemesis. “I’ve been paid
to do a job. Unless you offer more than your brother…well, I don’t see how I
could help you.”

“Gerard, please
reconsider. We could use…”

William was
unable to finish the sentence, as the mercenary sprung toward Adam with all his
strength. Wrenching the youngster’s sword from his hand, Gerard spun the knight
around and pulled him tight against his body as a shield. The sword’s blade
rested lightly against the boy’s neck.

“Now, I’m
walking out of here,” Gerard spat.

“We can’t allow
that,
DuBois
.”

The mercenary
backed up, guiding his hostage toward the church’s door. The
djinni
army spread apart, making room for him at a nod from
William.

“Now, leper, I
will take my leave…
grrk
.”

Gerard released
his hostage as something sharp slammed into his back. It was the oddest
sensation, but a familiar one, as hot and cold mingled around the blade that
now pierced him. Blood streamed from his lips as he slowly turned to see the
beautiful face of Isabella standing behind him, bloody knife in hand.

“He might not
be willing to kill you, monster,” she whispered coldly in his ear as he
collapsed to the ground. “But I have no such qualms.”

The mercenary’s
eyes grew dim. A great sound of rushing water filled his ears as his lungs
struggled to take in breath. And then, he felt no more.

“Isabella!”
William’s necrotic eyes widened with horror. “What have you done?”

His niece’s
lithe frame moved slowly around the cooling body that lay crumpled on the
sanctuary floor and spat at the beast that had murdered Margaret. Silently, she
looked up at William, not offering a word of explanation.

It was no
surprise, actually. Isabella had always been a defiant child. When she believed
herself to be right, nothing would stay her course. Her will and determination
were indomitable. That was why he’d spent years secretly training her how to
fight…how to be a warrior. If she was going to run out and fight against every
sign of injustice, he had been determined to prepare her for any eventuality.

He had not,
however, prepared her for murder. He glanced down at the mercenary, whose blood
now pooled around his body, then shut his eyes from the sight. Gerard was not a
good man. He should not be lamented. Still, the idea of his precious Isabella
bloodying her hands—it was something he had never foreseen.

“I’m sorry,
Uncle,” his niece finally said, a single tear streaking the porcelain contour
of her left cheek. “I could not allow him to leave here. You know that.”

“He would not
have left, child. I had three men in hiding outside. They would have stopped
his escape.”

Isabella stared
helplessly at William. The men who followed the Djinn shifted uncomfortably in
the silence. William knew they believed he was being too hard on her. Perhaps
he was. But he could not bear the idea of her being guilty of cold-blooded
murder. He had fought so hard to avoid killing anyone through his own campaign
against Gregory. Yes, there had been unfortunate casualties—the inescapable
result of war—but he had intentionally avoided outright murder.

He looked up at
Isabella, who seemed unable to tear her eyes away from him—the dead mercenary
under her feet completely forgotten. Her lips trembled as she valiantly
struggled to hold back an onslaught of tears.
 

Oh Lord, how much she resembles her mother
,
William thought. His heart constricted within his chest at the sight. He missed
Catherine so much. His niece was all he had left of her and he had loved her
with every ounce of his being. His every breath and thought had been guided by
this love…his desire to keep sweet Isabella safe and to see her happy. Now, here
she was standing before him, covered in the blood of their enemy as the full
terror of her actions threatened to consume her.

Pulling his
hood over his face again to protect her from making contact with his diseased
skin, he stepped forward and took Isabella into his arms, pulling her tight
against him.

“It’s all
right,” he said soothingly into her ear. His gloved hand caressed her back as
she heaved in anguish and a flood of tears against him. “Everything will be all
right.”

“I’m not…It’s
not him…it’s….”

“
Shhhhh
.
No need to talk now. Just
let it out.”

She pulled away
and looked at him from under his hood, shaking her head in defiance.

“You don’t
understand,” she continued. “I’m not concerned about Gerard. I’m glad he’s
dead. That’s not the problem.”

William looked
around the sanctuary. His men stood transfixed, staring silently at him.
Their mouths agape.
Streams of tears streaked across many of
their own faces. What was going on?

“Uncle, it’s
not Gerard…it’s you,” Isabella said

William’s eyes
continued staring at his niece. What was wrong with her? Why was she suddenly
fading from his sight? She was only inches away, but she seemed so far. He
tried to focus his vision, but her image grew dimmer in front of him. His knees
buckled underneath him and he plopped to the stone floor of the church.
Although he could no longer see her, he felt Isabella’s warm embrace and heard
her sweet whisper in his ear.

“Please, Uncle.
Please hold on. I can’t do this without you.”

He felt a
single droplet fall to his cheek.
His niece’s tear.
Then, consciousness deserted him entirely.

****

His dreams were dark and scattered—fantasy
and horror mixed with segments of his past. Images of
djinni
and all sorts of evil spirits plagued his fevered sleep. Darkness whirled
around him as nightmarish phantoms slithered fiendishly through the shadows
.

I’m dying,
William thought to himself as he scanned the
dreamscape surrounding him
. This is what dying feels like.

He’d nearly died once before—many years ago.
The memory flooded his mind’s eye, a whirlwind of sorrow and admiration. If he
hadn’t already been comatose, the impact of the memory would have floored him.

Samir.
The man who would eventually adopt him as
an adult son—a custom common in the eastern nations—tended his wounds. The battle
had been fierce and by all accounts, he had fought valiantly. But it hadn’t
been good enough. An arrow to his chest would have killed him for sure if not
for the tender care and medical expertise of the Saracen sheik that found him
alive on the battlefield.

“Be still, boy,” Samir had spoken harshly,
but William had known the gruffness had been for his own good. “The shaft must
be pulled out. One jerk by you and you might as well get ready to meet your
ancestors.”

William had been so young…three months away
from his seventeenth birthday. Much too young to see the atrocities he’d been
part of.
Even younger to now lay victim to those very same
atrocities.

Thankfully, Samir was no slouch when it came
to medicine. He’d been trained by the best. From an early age, the sheik’s
father had sent him on a journey around the world—his brilliant mind absorbing
anything it could. And it had soaked up a great deal.

William later learned that medicine had not
been the only subject his adopted father had picked up on his journeys.
Philosophy, science, and a variety of special fighting skills had been added to
his repertoire as well. As had religion…a simple little detail that would change
young William’s life forever.

“Steady now,” Samir gritted his teeth and
his two strong hands wrapped themselves around the wooden shaft of the Saracen
arrow. With a great heave, William’s rescuer yanked the projectile from his
chest and brought down a white hot branding iron on top of the open wound in a
single motion.

William couldn’t remember screaming, but he
knew he had. Even now, forever marred by his horrible illness, unable to feel
pain of any kind
…
even now, William
remembered the horrible agony of that single moment. It was as if he were
completely reliving it.

“It’s all
right,”
said the soothing voice
.
“Everything is going to be all right.”

This time,
William heard himself scream. His eyes bolted open to see
Tufic’s
bruised but concerned face bent over him—a red hot poker clenched in his hand.

“William,
listen to me,” his long-time friend continued. “You’re bleeding out. You’ve got
at least three new injuries. And two older ones have reopened. We’ve got to
stop it.”

The smell of
Tufic’s
insufferable medicinal fungi weighed heavy in the
air. The stuff smelled worse than his own decaying flesh, but William ignored
the putrid odor as his eyes looked past
Tufic
and
locked on their target. Isabella. He looked up into her moistened face and
smiled as much as he could muster. He wanted to assure her. He still had work
to do. He still had purpose. He couldn’t give up until Gregory’s plans were
finally stopped.

The fire brand
seared his flesh with a hiss. He couldn’t feel it, but the smell of burned hair
and skin flooded his nostrils and he drifted back into the dreamscape once
more.

“You’re finally awake, eh, lad?”

The younger William sat slowly up in the
feather bed of the sheik’s palatial tent. The wizened face of his benefactor
beamed back at him. Instinctively, William reached for his chest, which he
found covered in linen cloths.

“Don’t worry, boy,” Samir beamed. “You’re
going to be just fine. Not a thing to worry about.”

Obviously, the older man didn’t seem to
think a Western Christian, immobilized and powerless in a Moslem’s home in
occupied territory was something to worry about. Every ounce of his soul
screamed at him to jump out of bed and run for freedom. All it took was an
attempt to sit up to realize how foolish that notion was.

“I’m serious,” the sheik said gently.
“You’ve truly nothing to fear from me.”

For some strange reason, William believed
him. From that moment on, the two formed a deep seated friendship that would
have lasted forever
…
if not for the
jealousy and greed of Samir’s eight sons. It was a friendship that meant almost
as much to him as…

****

“Isabella, no!”

“I must see him
immediately,” William’s niece demanded. When she set her mind to something,
there was no stopping her.
“
Tufic
,
get out of my way.”

“He needs his
rest,” said the physician. “He’s stabilized for now, but I’m not sure for how
long. He needs time for the foxfire to work.
Needs time to
recuperate.”

Consciousness
was slinking its way into William’s mind. He knew it was impossible, but it
felt as if pain wracked every inch of his body.
Phantom pain.
Memories.
Nothing more.

You silly oaf
, thought William.
Lepers, after all, can’t feel anything
except shame
…
humiliation
. As much
as he tried, William couldn’t muster strength enough to open his eyes. He
wanted to see Isabella. He wanted to see her mother again. But he couldn’t get
his lids to cooperate.

“I don’t mean
to disturb him,” Isabella said. “I just want to be near him. He needs me.”

“I can assure
you, he doesn’t even know you’re here. He’s completely delirious.”

Tufic
, you fool, let the poor girl in here
.
William wanted to scream. He couldn’t even do that right. What had he done to
his body to cause it such stress?

“Isa…Isa…” it
was all the once mighty Djinn could choke out.

Silence.

“See, he’s
awake. He’s calling to me!”

A shuffle of
feet and fabric rustled to his left as he felt the presence of his niece
drawing near.

“Uncle,” her
sweet breath tossed the words into his ear. He felt pressure on his bandaged
hand. She’d taken it into hers and now sat silently at his bedside. “Don’t
worry, Uncle. I won’t leave you again.”

William could
hold on no longer. Now in the comfort and care of Isabella, he let himself
succumb to his exhaustion and slept peacefully.

****

He wasn’t quite
sure how long he’d been asleep. When he finally came to, William found himself
refreshed. Whatever one could say about the putrid stench of
Tufic’s
mushrooms, they were miraculous in their healing
powers. They had certainly been useful enough during his campaign against his
brother.

“What are we
going to do?” William heard someone ask in the next room. He was in a stone
bedchamber with no windows. He must still be in the church, he thought. And
something was going on…something big from the sound of the commotion.

“The only thing
we can do,”
came
the familiar voice of Horatio. “We’ve
got to defend his homestead.”

“Defend it? Gregory’s
got nearly one hundred men. At best, we might be able to muster forty. How can
we defend against such odds?” asked someone William could not quite place.

Yes, something
was definitely going on and he needed to be in the midst of it. He should be part
of whatever discussion was causing such concern. He struggled to lift himself
out of the bed, careful not to crash to the floor. Snatching a walking stick
from the corner of the room, William made his way towards the round oak door.

“Horatio’s
correct,” said
Tufic
in hushed tones. He had been
struggling to keep the men’s voices down for some time now. Good old
Tufic
.
Loyal to the end.
“We’ve
really no choice. Gregory’s forces are advancing and it’s worse than you all
realize.” He paused to let that sink in. “Our scouts told me that there are
twelve giants leading the soldiers now.
Twelve massive, clay
giants.”

Gregory had
managed to resurrect
Rakeesha’s
golems? His forces
were moving…the lives of his loyal staff and friends were in danger. Another
flash of memories flooded his thoughts as he shuffled slowly toward the door…

“Samir!”
William had screamed as he rounded the
hill, looking down on the sheik’s ruined settlement. Fires still raged against
the landscape as the sun descended over the horizon. His feet had pounded down
the sand swept dune towards the sheik’s home.

Bodies lay strewn over the land, burned
beyond recognition.
Livestock dead.
Servants
dismembered. Samir’s elegant palace was now nothing more than embers flitting
carefree through the air.

As he walked through the field of blood and
death, he found his adoptive father’s mutilated body beside that of a Western knight.
Both obviously slain in combat.
An axe head was lodged
at the sheik’s shoulders. One leg was nowhere to be found. Darkening blood
dried over his face and clothes. A noble and decent man…and he was no more.