The Djinn (5 page)

Two
days later…

Gerard
DuBois
, the captain of Gregory’s secret mercenary force,
scanned the eastern horizon from the edge of the ridge his soldiers now huddled
upon. The orange-red glow of the sun descended behind him, blinding those
encamped in the valley below from his presence.

‘
Twill
be
a cooler
evening than we’ve experienced in recent months
, he thought, taking a deep
breath of the humid air. A thunderstorm had rolled into the valley earlier in
the afternoon. The moist breeze against his body cooled the white-hot armor
against his skin. Western armor wasn’t designed for such hostile environs as
the
Outremer
and it could make a
waiting soldier miserable just from the heat building up inside the chainmail.

He inhaled once
more,
then
looked down at the settlement below.

It had taken
some doing (and the loss of an eye by the teeth and claws of hungry rats), but
the nomad had finally revealed the location of the Guardians’ camp. And now, he
and his men waited patiently for the time to strike. Soon, Gregory would have
his precious ring and Gerard would be one step closer to gaining the prize he
most desired—the baron’s lovely daughter.

The thought of
her alabaster skin against his raised the temperature even more within his
armor and he turned his attention once more to the camp below lest he lose
himself in his fantasies about Isabella.

The nomads were
casually preparing for the evening, unaware of the danger that lurked over the
horizon. Cooking fires burned—the succulent smell of stew rose up from the
smoke—making Gerard’s stomach rumble. Children laughed as they chased a
pathetically scrawny dog around the camp’s domiciles. A group of women huddled
together in hushed chatter as they carried pots filled with water on their
heads from the Jordan.

It truly was a
beautiful sight to the Western warrior. Not for its pastoral perfection, but
for what was soon to come—mayhem, terror, and death for any who stood in his
way of his mission.

His purpose
here was, of course, two fold. Primarily, he was to retrieve the fabled ring
known as the Seal of Solomon. But there was a secondary reason for this raid as
well. The baron was in desperate need of laborers to continue work on the
tunnels he’d been excavating for the last seven and a half years.
Tunnels deep in the underbelly of the City of David.
Tunnels that would lead Baron Gregory to the final piece of the
puzzle to his life long quest.
The nomads who survived the initial raid
would be taken prisoner and forced to work. The baron never asked how his
workers were procured and of course, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. But
Gerard savored such moments as this.

He had come a
long way from his humble beginning. The illegitimate son of a Saxon nobleman
and a Jewish whore, he had been born in Bethany, a tiny village on the
outskirts of Jerusalem. His suspect heritage prevented him from any positions
of honor among the nobles. But he hadn’t let it stop him.

“Sir,
Balian’s
group is now in position,” reported Archibald, his
second in command. “
Durgan’s
forces are almost in
place.”

“Thank you,
Archibald. We will now bide our time until the infidels are deep in slumber. Be
ready for my signal.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Gerard watched
as his closest friend marched toward the rest of his mercenary force. They were
feared throughout the
Outremer
and
with good reason. They were the best. They had never known defeat and with a
few exceptions for Gregory, they rarely took any prisoners. He was most proud
of his men.

****

It had been a
perfect victory and took less than fifteen minutes altogether. Not a single one
of Gerard’s men had been injured, though the same could not be said for the
Guardians. Six strong men, and one impulsive lad, had died in the attack.

Of course,
there was never really any chance the campaign could have turned out
differently. The camp, which had been set up on the western shore of the
Jordan, had been completely surrounded.
Balian’s
knights had ridden in from the north, while
Durgan’s
from the south. Gerard’s men had marched in from the east, all while the camp
slept in the stillness of the night.

They had struck
swiftly, silent as a bird of prey. A bird of prey…the unnerving memory of the
falcon shot a shiver down his spine. It was the only thing that disquieted him
about the entire affair.
An omen if there
ever was one
, he thought.

The bird had
swooped down upon them in the thick of battle—black as jet with eyes that
glowed red from the camp’s firelight. It had done nothing but perch itself upon
a withered old tree near the tent of the tribe’s chieftain and
watch
the battle unfold.

At first, Gerard
had opted to ignore the strange sight as the battle raged on. Things had gone
well until the young boy fell. It was such a useless death. The lad would have
been a strong worker in Gregory’s tunnels. But he’d been too proud for his own
good. Taking a sword from a fallen warrior, the whelp charged at Gerard like a
moon-vexed lunatic. Instinctively, the larger man had cut the boy down with a
single swipe of his blade.

It was at that
moment the bird made itself known again. Shrieking like a fell banshee from
Irish tales, the falcon flew into the air, diving straight for Gerard’s head.
Its lance-like talons raked against his face and it was all the mercenary could
do to keep from losing an eye. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the bird
was gone. It simply had disappeared and no one had been able to see in which
direction it had flown.

It was a very bad omen indeed
, Gerard
thought, pulling a round metal object from his pouch and appraising its
workmanship.
But well
worth the risk
.

The gold ring
in his hand glittered in the pale
firelight,
its
strange and ancient symbols etched onto its band seemed to glow and eerie hue
of green and yellow. But it was the gemstone in the ring’s cradle that
captivated him more than anything.
An unusual looking
pentacle that seemed to shimmer and move as if its very lines were made of
water.

“Gerard,” said
Archibald, huffing as he made his way up a steep incline to reach his captain.
“Both
Balian
and
Durgan
have taken their men back to Bethany as you requested. We are left with our
regular men, fifteen in all.”

“Good.” The
mercenary captain stuffed the ring back into his pouch and looked at his
lieutenant. “That’s more than enough to keep these heathen in line.”

“Shall we make
preparations for our journey to Jerusalem, sir?”

Gerard looked
at his men. It had been a short battle, but it had been grueling. It was also
never wise to travel the desert at night unless you knew the terrain well. His
men didn’t. Besides, the added burden of herding a group of twenty-seven
prisoners through a nighttime desert just seemed liked suicide. No, it would be
better to wait.

“Nay,
Archibald,” said Gerard. “I think we’ll stay here for the night and break camp
at dawn. Give the men some time to rest. But set up a two man watch every
hour.”

“Aye, sir,”
said his lieutenant, who continued to stare at Gerard without moving.

“Something on your mind, lad?”

Archibald
hesitated. He appeared contemplative…almost anxious. Gerard knew what was
coming and he dreaded it. He wasn’t sure how he was going to respond and his
indecision irritated him.

“Spit it out,
man. I’m tired and would like a bit of sleep myself,” growled Gerard.

“Well, sir,
it’s just that the men have been talking…about the falcon, I mean.”

“What about
it?”

“Well, it seems
that the bird was something a bit unnatural,” said his friend. “And, well, with
all the talk about the Djinn and all, some of the men were wondering if there
might be some connect—”

“The Djinn?”
asked Gerard, who was already very tired of the conversation. “That’s what this
is about?
A fairy tale?
Archibald, you of all people
should know better.”

“Of course,
sir, but it’s not me, remember. It’s the men. You know how superstitious they
can be,” Archibald explained. “A number of them have Arabic roots and say that
such creatures were often known as shape shifters…creatures known as the
Al-
Ghul
, from
what I understand.”

“
Pah
!
‘
Tis
the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“That may be
so, but it doesn’t help the morale of the men, sir. What shall I tell them?”

Gerard had
heard enough. It was bad enough that Gregory’s own elite force of knights were
suffering from these silly nightmares. It was something altogether different
when
his own
men, professional killers, began fearing
little black birds that fluttered in the night.

“Tell them what
I told you. Tell them the whole thing is ridiculous and to go to bed.”

“Yes sir,” said
Archibald as he turned to walk away.

“But, lieutenant?
Don’t forget to set the guard…just in
case.”

His old friend
smiled nervously with a nod and walked toward the camp in silence. The whole
notion was preposterous, but Gerard had to admit, thoughts of the Djinn had
crossed his mind as well. The rumors were everywhere and news of the creature’s
antics
were
growing in both audacity and cunning. The
Muslims’ imams were praising Allah and Christian clerics were praying for
deliverance. And knights and foot soldiers alike were afraid to lay their heads
down for fear of being snatched away to some unknown hell.

Something had
to be done about it. But for now, it was time that Gerard enjoyed some much
deserved slumber.

****

As far as he
could tell, it was nearly three in the morning and Gerard had managed to get a
few hours sleep. But disturbing thoughts of the falcon had swooped into his
slumber and jarred him awake. After nearly twenty minutes of tossing and
turning on his horse blanket, he decided to relieve one of his sentries and
take watch for a while.

Gerard sat on a
wooden stool, his back to the fire, looking out into darkness. To his right,
young Geoffrey paced nervously around the camp’s perimeter. The sound of ragged
snoring ripped through the camp and Gerard found himself fighting the urge to
close his eyes for a few minutes.

It wouldn’t be
prudent to be discovered by the others sleeping on guard duty. What would his
men say to that? He had disciplined the last sentry that had fallen asleep
severely—twenty lashes with a leather strap.

No, it wouldn’t
be good at all to nod off, so Gerard stood up, stretched with a suppressed
yawn, and walked to the edge of campfire’s light in hope that the cool desert
air would revitalize him. He nodded to Geoffrey as he passed him by and looked
out onto the night. Not much to see…nothing but a few angular silhouettes of
cacti against a vast canvas of purple and blue.

He glanced up
into the sky and spotted a dark shape flying through the air toward him—a small
metal ball hurled over his head and landed in the center of the campfire as
Gerard watched spellbound. Nothing happened.

That was strange
, thought Gerard as he
fruitlessly scanned the darkness.

Geoffrey, who
had seen the strange apparition too, turned to his captain. “What was that?”

“I’ve no idea,
lad. It seemed to be some sort of…” Gerard’s words were cut off when a blinding
flash of light erupted from the campfire, followed immediately by a giant plume
of smoke and ash that enshrouded the entire camp. The flash-blinded mercenary
blinked back tears as the sulfurous smoke wafted into his eyes.

Instinctively,
the captain drew his sword from its sheath and floundered sightlessly through
the camp.

“To arms!
To arms!” cried Gerard. “We’re under attack! Make
sure the prisoners are secure and prepare for battle!”

The clatter of
armor and weapons arose throughout the camp as Gerard’s men scrambled to follow
his orders. Sleep still clung to their eyes as they filed out of their tents,
slinging on their chainmail and helmets in the smoky haze.

“Captain, where
are you?” asked Archibald from somewhere to Gerard’s right. “What is
happening?”

“Over here,”
the mercenary answered.

The lieutenant
blindly made his way to Gerard and they locked hands tightly to feel where the
other was. Both men jumped involuntarily when the metallic clank of another
object fell into the campfire, releasing a second eruption of smoke from the
pit.

High above
them, they heard the shriek of a bird. And though they could not see it, Gerard
knew without question that it was the same falcon from earlier that day. The
mercenary felt his heart rise higher into his throat at the realization,
effectively knocking the breath out of him.

“The Djinn,”
Archibald said, his voice quivering. “We have angered the Djinn and now he
attacks.”

“
Quiet
!” Gerard hissed. “We don’t want to
panic the men. It’s probably something else. Let’s just wait and see what
happens.”

As if on cue, a
scream arose from Nicholas, one of Gerard’s most seasoned men, from across the
chaotic campsite. Another terrified wail erupted from two more men. No one
could see anything with the ever-present smoke blanketing their surroundings in
shades of gray and black. Gerard could only guess what was happening to his men
as he dashed in the direction of shouts.