Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) (20 page)

The skeptics—who were far more numerous than the King had imagined—retorted that since the King had never set foot in the temple of Tanniin, he preferred Baal. Moreover, he was childless, and as such, had no dynasty to speak of.

Rising to his feet, the King turned to the high priestess and bowed. “Dear Bahiya, my dear friends and dignitaries of noble kingdoms: Master Garu, head judge, Masters Ibromaliöm, Hylâz, and Ramany, judges of the Games, and my dear people; united, we commemorate my illustrious ancestor, El-Windiir, who, at the dawn of time, withstood the might of the Lords of the Deep and won the Day of Light that brightens our hearts. We have with us the finest of the friendly kingdoms that live under the banner of Baal. These young men and women have come to take this test of endurance, courage, and strength. They entered the Games to win the coveted sword of El-Windiir.”

That last name drew warm applause from the audience.

“The most honorable and worthy of all acclaims, high priestess of the famed Temple of Baal in the city of Baalbeck, Lady Bahiya, gifted us with this year’s prize, which bears witness to her lavish generosity.” Two arbitrators carried the decorative weapon on a red, silk cushion and showed it to the crowd. “As you can see, it is made of pure gold with twelve rubies adorning the handle, symbolizing Tannin’s twelve virtues.”

The public applauded politely and the applause was sustained—an expression of the admiration and fear surrounding the priestess like an aura. She bowed with a natural grace and bestowed her enchanting smile on the crowd.

“And now, my dear people, let us salute the athletes who are prepared to take part in these Games.”

The trumpets and drums attracted the attention of the audience. Each team stood beneath its banner. Everyone focused on the competitors. Master Garu stood to introduce the teams.

“First, I should like to present the favored team hailing from the famed city of Baalbeck, the famed team of the Temple of Baal. It is led by none other than High Priestess Bahiya’s daughter, Lady Hiyam.”

Dressed in red and black—the colors of Baal—the Junior High Riders received a standing ovation. Baal’s line-up was an all-time favorite year after year, for they always managed to overcome—with great ease—every obstacle they faced during the Games.

“Next, we have the team of the Kingdom of Lurca, who finished second last year. This year, the team’s leader is new to the Games, and we salute him warmly: Prince Olothe.”

Prince Olothe and his team of seven saluted. They wore crimson and light blue vestments to honor Astarte, the goddess of love.

Master Garu introduced the remaining teams in succession: the team from the Kingdom of Oronoque, two teams from the farthest land of Lickmerick, two teams from the Isles of Quibanxe, one team from the southern Kingdom of Mitani-Nahariim, two teams from the neighboring Kingdom of Togofalk, and one team from Babylon in the Land of Aram, a new participant this year.

Master Garu stood before Ahiram. An awkward silence fell over the crowd. The Silent lifted his head, listening to his banner flapping joyously in the air.

Master Garu continued, “And in the great tradition of our venerable Games, we have this year, a daring, new participant. This young man wishes to stand where El-Windiir once stood and repeat his victory, so to speak. One who wants to win, not only the Games, but his freedom: the slave, Ahiram. Let us therefore salute his courage—”

Someone shouted, “His stupidity,” and the crowd guffawed. Master Garu waited until the cackle subsided before continuing, “…and wish him the best of luck.” An awkward silence followed, and the two teams from Quibanxe applauded. Ahiram looked at them, startled. Their applause died quickly when the crowd began to boo Ahiram once more.

The King and the high priestess sat down and the Queen, holding a white handkerchief, stood up. Eleven arbitrators ran to the posts and lowered the banners. The drums started beating, first slowly, then faster and faster, until at last, the Queen dropped the handkerchief. The twelve trumpets blared to the cheer of the crowd. The teams rushed into the mine, except for Ahiram, who had to wait half an hour.

Since the Games took place inside the mines and out of sight of the spectators, jesters, actors, acrobats, musicians, and singers would soon invade the plaza to entertain the crowd. Arbitrators, strategically posted in the mines, kept the spectators abreast of the players’ progress. As each team neared the exit, the arbitrators would raise that team’s banner.

Ahiram surveyed the crowd, trying to recognize any friendly face. The sun was in his eyes, and he recognized no one. He stared at the dark, gaping hole leading into the mine and shuddered. Now that the goal was so close, he felt afraid. This half hour seemed the longest of his life.

Prince Olothe and his team entered the mines last. This, Olothe did on purpose. He let the other teams take the lead, while he and his men lingered behind. When he was sure that only his men could hear him, he gave three of them a simple and stern order:

“Get rid of this slave, understand? Do what you must.”

With the rest of his team, he took off running. The men left behind decided to wait for Ahiram around the first bend, in a hidden alcove where the daylight, seeping from shafts high above, could not reach. The Silent would have to be as thin as a shadow to avoid their blades.

Ahiram looked at the hourglass on the judges’ table; the half hour had elapsed a moment ago. Hylâz, one of the four judges, took notice and at last, gave the signal. His fear and anguish instantly forgotten, Ahiram leaped into action. However, instead of going into the mine through the main entrance, he continued along the western path. Someone shouted, “Lo, the slave is running away!” Promptly, the crowd stood up. Many ran after him, nearly trampling the performing mimes who scrambled to higher ground. Ahiram glanced back and saw the crowd surging like an angry wave. He winced and sped up, following the bend in the road. He sprinted toward a boulder and leaped, grabbing a rope lodged there. He climbed quickly. By the time the crowd reached the boulder, he was already halfway up. One man tried to pull on the rope, but luckily, the trumpets sounded. The crowd quieted and made way for the judges. Ahiram was now two hundred feet high, near the top of the rock face, and the judges caught only a glimpse of him.

“Climbing up, I see. Rather original,” said Hylâz. He adjusted thin spectacles over his prominent nose and squinted in the light, trying to see Ahiram. The Silent had fully disappeared from view. Hylâz inspected his velvet, light-brown coat, struggling to cover his wide girth with it, and was relieved that it had not been sullied in the excitement.

“Is this action against the regulations?” asked Ramany, a second judge. He scratched his bald head, shaped like an elongated egg gleaming under the sun, and tensed his neck muscles, as if he was having difficulty swallowing. His deep-blue, velvet coat floated around his tall, thin frame, like a ghost hovering over a pole.

“I do not believe so,” replied Master Garu, standing nearby in his white, velvet coat. “We must check the exact wording of the rules. If memory serves me right, the regulations stipulate that the judges shall declare as a winner the first team to come out of the mines with a validated pair of bronze shoes. Nowhere does it say that the participants have to enter the mines, let alone enter through the main doorway.”

“Hmm… this is awkward, we must amend the rules,” mumbled Ibromaliöm, the fourth judge. He was tall, perhaps not as tall as Ramany, but with a stronger build. Unlike the three other judges, Ibromaliöm’s pepper-black beard seemed perennially unkempt, hardly able to cover cheeks so hollow they looked emaciated. A pair of thick, dark eyebrows loomed like two vultures over tiny, black eyes. The judge’s bony frame gave him the appearance of a scarecrow, and whenever he flashed a smile, his white, sharp teeth startled those standing nearby. He looked like a predator about to devour his prey.

“Most certainly,” replied Garu, “but amendments will do us no good in the present circumstances; they can apply only to next year’s Games. Meanwhile, we had better return to the plaza and let these poor mimes resume their show. Let us see what this action portends. My friends, something tells me these Games shall be keeping us very busy.”

With these words, Garu started walking back. He walked impatiently, and the three other judges had difficulty keeping up with him. When they arrived in the open space, he immediately reported the events diligently to the King and Queen. The crowd lingered, inspecting the rope that hung lifeless against the mountainside. Some touched it, others yanked it. One by one, they went back to the plaza, wondering what the slave hoped to achieve by climbing that rope.

Ahiram peered inside the dark, gaping hole. The long rope, neatly wrapped on a short ledge, was still there. Tied sturdily to an iron ring by one end, it was ready to be lowered. He closed his eyes and listened for the slightest movement below, but heard nothing. He removed his white coat, appearing in the shimmering green and gray uniform of the Silent. When Olothe drew attention to Ahiram earlier, every player saw him in white. “Your best disguise is the strong impression your enemy has of you,” Commander Tanios had said. “Strong… and dead wrong.”

He dropped the rope down the hole and waited for it to unfurl quietly before starting his descent. It swayed in the cold draft circulating in the upper parts of the mine. He suspended his descent for a moment to allow his eyes time to adjust to the dimmed light, and then resumed. He lowered himself soundlessly. No one was around when he reached the sandy ground. He stayed motionless for a moment, surveying the surroundings until he was certain that no one had spotted him. Quickly, he hid the rope by rolling it up and wedging it between two rocks, then he began walking toward the exit. He moved rapidly from cave to cave, the sand muffling his footsteps.

Whether these caves were related to the mines—where El-Windiir slaved under the bane of the Lords of the Pit—was a favorite topic of debate for the judges of the Games. What was certain is that over time, treasure hunters—questing for the tomb where the weapons of the founder allegedly resided—expanded the subterranean complex, turning it into a huge labyrinth of hallways and rooms which included the circuit that Ahiram was presently following. Some even say an entire community of Undergrounders hid in large caves below, waiting for the day of liberation. Others whispered of hidden temples and dark magic in secret chambers deep within the belly of the mountain. Ahiram did not care much for these folktales. Instead, he spent two years crisscrossing the upper levels of the mines where the Games took place until he knew his way around them like the back of his hand.

The idea of participating in the Games was not his. It was old Habael who planted this seed and helped him to organize his plan of action: study, train, and win. The old man was a mystery. Some say Habael entered Magdala, the forbidden forest, and came back changed. Although he was a gardener, he seemed at times to wield more power than the King himself. In fact, the King, on more than one occasion, had asked Habael to interpret a few of his disturbing dreams. The King wanted to make Habael a personal adviser, but the old man stubbornly refused, stating that his place was in the garden. Ahiram would have been surprised had he known that Habael refused the advisory position in order to stay close to the one he affectionately called “the lad”. Ahiram would have been very surprised, indeed, if he had known what Habael thought of him.

The caves where the Games took place were huge. It would have taken anyone several days to cross them from one end to the other, assuming that the traveler knew his way. Often, arbitrators rescued a team that had wandered too deep into the mines. When not mediating, they earned their keep by leading pilgrims into the safest section of the caves, where the ground was clean and the walls safely smoothed. They made most of their earnings during the busiest two weeks of the year; the end of the month of Ayyâr, which signaled the close of the harvest. At that time, thousands of pilgrims came for the festival of El-Windiir and thronged the mines.

Traditionally, the head arbitrator hid the bronze shoes two-thirds of the way into the Hall of Rippling Pillars. The players in the Game of Bronze raced to the hall, frantically searched for the shoes, and made a mad dash to the exit. The last stretch wound its way through a real maze of honeycombed caves, where teams were bound to get lost. Frequently, laggard teams would catch up, steal the shoes, and reach the exit before their victims could manage to stop them.

As far as the arbitrators were concerned, the Game had been too easy if the players’ clothes were clean when they reached the exit.

Nearing the Hall of Meetings, Ahiram heard an arbitrator speak clearly, as if he were standing next to him. He stopped, leaned against the nearby wall, and listened. In this peculiar cave, one could hear a whisper as clearly as a shout. Allegedly, El-Windiir met with his men here before the last onslaught of the Lords of the Pit.

“How many teams so far?”

“Only one.”

“Bahiya’s?”

“Yes. Her team is fast, traveling like it had a map of the place. You should have seen them zipping by here and taking the right turn without hesitation. I tell you, they know what they are doing.”

“I suppose…”

“What do you mean, ‘I suppose’? You suppose what?”

“Oh, come on. Are you so naïve? Don’t you know the lead arbitrator has rigged the Game?”

“Rigged?” exclaimed the first arbitrator.

“Not so loud. Do you want us hanged?” cut in the second, in a hushed voice. “Of course. It is political. They want the team of Baal to win. Imagine if a local team won these Games over Baal.” The tone was now conspiratorial. “Some might just take this victory to be
the
signal…”

“Signal? For what?”

“I was having a couple of ales with Arif a few nights back—”

“Oh, where did you go?”

“Well, you were on your night shift, so that’s why we didn’t tell you. We went to the Flying Tankard—”

“The Flying Tankard? Are you out of your mind? That tavern is for cutthroats. We’re not supposed to go there.”