In the Shadow of Swords (14 page)

Even in his anger, Munif knew this squat little man was not the source of the attack. He used his upper body to pull himself out of the grate. He lay on his back for a few moments to catch his breath and inspect the damage. He’d managed to escape with severe burns, but no muscle damage. The thin layer of linen that clothed his legs had all but disintegrated, and blisters had formed over much of the reddened skin.

He stood carefully and looked one last time at his fellow Jassaj. In honor of their service, Munif raised his hand to his forehead and whispered a prayer.

There was nothing else he could do.

They were all dead.

15

IT WAS just past midnight.

The two summoners slipped out of the room and moved into the hallway. It appeared to be abandoned save for one man sleeping propped against the wall, a bottle held loosely in his hand. The summoners crept past the drunkard and down the back steps out to a deserted back street. The night was cool, and there was a biting wind. The echoing refrain of fellahmin music floated into the alley. Although the Jassaj were dead, the summoners knew not to become complacent; so they set out in opposite directions in order to elude any other spies.

The men moved with purpose, knowing their final obstacle had been removed. Assuming Fajeer Dassai kept his promise, they would have no difficulty finding their way out of the city. Soon they would be in the safe house that had been prepared forthem several farsangs northward, in the hilly lands beyond Tivisis. Still, they remained wary.

Hersí felt confident about their apparent success. He wondered briefly if the three Jassaj who’d been consumed by the magical fire had time to realize what was happening to them as they were engulfed in flames by the
unnalíí
spell. Secretly, he hoped they had; he had nothing but distain for the Qatani people. His kind, those from Carac, would no longer be viewed with contempt while the Jassaj were exalted. Their mission would garner the summoners both awe and terror.

As Hersí continued on his path, he thought about the discussion he’d had with Bashír shortly before their departure. Bashír fretted that the plan might fail and those who’d been pursuing them were not dead. “I’m worried about what will happen to us if they indeed live,” he said. Hersí assured him that the Jassaj had not survived.

“The
Lamia’nar
consumed every living thing there,” he assured Bashír.

Despite these reassurances, Bashír was worried about being caught and concerned that the entire mission was still at risk. And he was afraid that if they were captured, they would suffer a pain worse than that experienced by the Jassaj they’d killed.

It was a promise.

16

THE SUMMONERS traveled northward.

Darkness revealed little as the two summoners moved through the night, leaving the gates of Tivisis behind them. They’d spent the day in a flat on the northern edge of the city, near the Lisbarre Cathedral, Faliini Monuments, and the plaza of commerce. Many of the buildings in this quarter were reserved for dignitaries, and offices gave way to the houses of nobles andmerchants. From dawn to dusk this was a busy thoroughfare with many people passing through it to the port and the lofty towers at Tivisis’ core. Now the cobblestone roads were quiet and empty.

The summoners climbed the steep road that separated the mainland from the sea. Between two sets of rocky ridges lay a succession of valleys, and the road dropped into the first one to meander for some distance beside a slow-moving stream.

This wide valley was planted with fields of oats. These farms supplied Tivisis with grain; they kept bread on the tables of those who could afford it. As the Carac continued, the cobblestones gradually became more worn and broken, until a well-traveled dirt road stretched out before them. They kept to the main path running northwest, aiming for a series of steeply rising ridges barely discernible in the distance: the foothills of the Tayar Mountains.

At the center of the valley, a small village divided the fields of grain from the pastures set aside for livestock. The sole purpose of the place was to provide for the transport of freshly harvested foodstuffs to Tivisis.

A cricket chirped in the darkness. A bull snorted from a corner pen. A mange-ridden dog trotted up but quickly turned and retreated as it caught the scent of the travelers. The two men moved on steadily without stopping for rest or a meal.

They crossed a stone bridge over the Lialín River, making their way to the far side of the valley, where a steep, narrow path into the hills gave most travelers pause. The road was constructed with multiple switchbacks to prevent caravan accidents. The shadowy figures pressed on. As they climbed higher, the deep ebony of night receded, and the horizon showed the first signs of morning, lightening into shades of blue. As the stars faded, the summoners reached the top of the ridge. Below them stretched a spectacular panorama.

On the other side of the valley, stony foothills ascended to the precipitous mountains beyond. In the gray mist of morning, amassive structure of rock revealed itself on one of the promontories. This was their destination, and now they began the arduous trek down the ridge that would lead them there.

Down in the heart of the vale, they crossed a sturdy bridge. Beneath them, a swiftly moving stream divided the valley. Immediately past the bridge, they left the road for a treacherous footpath through the woods.

It was here, among the trees shrouded in mist, that the men spotted an abandoned building. It was a small stone house; it abutted several fields that spanned the distance between itself and the great edifice that was their destination. They stepped inside, making no effort to announce their presence.

The house was much larger within than the dilapidated exterior had led them to expect. It consisted of two rooms, both empty. The corners and the door frames were choked with cobwebs and covered with a thick layer of dust. Hersí opened the shutters of a large window and peered out. He could just make out the outline of the stone fane at the top of the hill.

The fane near Burj al-Ansour housed many
fakirs
who sought to become
misal’ayn sufis
. Lights flickered from small windows, and Hersí realized they were candles placed there each day for early morning devotions. Once the suns rose, the
fakirs
would begin their day.

Hersí turned from the window and joined Bashír in preparation for the ritual. The Carac moved without hesitation, despite the fact that neither had performed the spell previously. Hersí watched in silence as Bashír knelt and drew the protective symbols—looking closely for any mistakes. As Bashír drew the first circle, with a second around it, they broke the silence briefly to whisper an incantation.

Once the circle was completed, Hersí carefully drew the two orbs from beneath his robes and set them in the center. He returned to Bashír’s side and knelt beside him.

Together they chanted the invocation.

17

FOR A few minutes, nothing happened.

Gradually, the room returned to darkness, save for the orbs, which began to glow fiery red. The summoners began the second part of the spell; the orbs pulsed more intensely with each new word. As they completed their incantation, the globes hissed and swelled. From their place within the protective circle, the summoners watched as a veil of copper smoke rose from each orb in the center circle. Slowly the smoke condensed, metamorphosing into two menacing shapes—damnable things wrested from the depths of a hellish abyss.

The two forms grew larger within the haze until they towered over the kneeling summoners. The mist of ash cleared to reveal two gigantic, demonic creatures. They appeared to be a combination of rat and boar, their bodies covered with leathery skin and wiry black hair. Curved, yellowish tusks protruded from their wart-covered faces, and their malevolent red eyes fixed on their masters’. The creatures rose slowly to their hindlegs. Both summoners noted that there were sharp claws on each foot. The demons made no effort to cross the crudely drawn line that kept them within the smaller magical circle.

One of the demons spoke, its hot breath reeking of decaying flesh. “You have called upon us, ‘Those who know our true names’. What is it you seek?” Its voice was low and guttural, as if spawned from the very bowels of Nürr.

The summoners stood and faced the demons without fear.

“I offer a reward for your service,” Hersí said as he pointed out the window. “Take the clerics and any others with them. You will find them laboring on the hillside. Kill them. Kill them all.”

“This request commands a high price,” the second demon said.

“The veil of the
shaitr
is lifted. You are free within the boundsof this world,” Hersí said. “But,” he continued, “for your part, you are to not spare a single life. Return here when you have finished… then you may call upon the others.” He paused. “Leave utter destruction behind you… be ravenous.”

The demons said nothing in response. Hersí sensed hesitation. Then the two creatures bared their razor-like teeth in a grimace. “Agreed,” they said in unison.

Hersí closed his eyes for a minute and then, with a wave of his hand, he spoke a single word:
“Qatil.”
With a great burst of speed, the two demons erupted from the center circle and leaped out the window. The summoners smiled.

The Carac would remain in the protective outer circle until the demons returned. They had a clear view through the window of what they knew was coming.

The demons charged toward the hillside.

18

RAHIB
OMMAD was a sinner.

He allowed himself to commit just one transgression each morning. He would choose the plumpest dewberry from the best vine and eat it.

It was always only one berry—never two—and always from branches already straining under the weight of ripened fruit. In his mind, since he’d been doing this for several years now, it could hardly be considered a sin. Ommad admitted to himself that, in this, he did have a weakness. Still, he liked to believe he could atone for it somehow later in life. Even the
imams
had been young once, and he doubted they had been born without a few flaws of their own.

Ommad did his job well. He worked the vineyards and orchards of a collective famous for its grape and fruit wines. Profit from the wines allowed the clerics to expand their services and undertake more charitable projects. Over the years, this collective had focused on taking in young orphans, raising them with loving discipline, turning little street urchins and beggar-thieves into hardworking young men. Now, in an effort to do even more, the clerics were teaching rudimentary viniculture skills to the local farmers. In return, the farmers gave them produce, honey, and extra help during planting and harvest.

But the clerics were also hoping to dissuade others from burning or using Azza, despite the Rassan Majalis’ strong endorsement.

From a young age Ommad had been taught that
Azza
offered protection from the Jnoun. For centuries the Sultans of Qatana had encouraged the burning of
Azza
as the only defense against the powerful entities that dwelt in the unseen realm.
Azza
took its name from its nature—it was said to be the very blood and essence of Ala’i, shed when he defeated the Jnoun and removed them from the mortal world. As long as men used Azza, the Jnoun could not cross the barrier. This practice had become commonplace in the islands of Miranes’, perpetuated by pressure from the long line of Sultans.

Ommad had learned from the
imams
however that the legend of the Jnoun had been perverted. But because the lies had been repeated so frequently throughout the years, they had achieved the force of truth—hence it was common knowledge across the kingdoms of Mir’aj that
Azza
would preserve the barrier and prevent the Jnoun from crossing over.

In the predawn light, Ommad joined the orderly procession through the gates of the
sehan
. He was warm in his heavy wool garments, his hands clasped in the long sleeves as he savored the smell of the distant ocean. The group split in two as it reached the outer fence, half of the order setting off to toil in the vineyards, Ommad and the others to prune the orchards. He smiled to himself, already tasting the sweet tang of his forbidden fruit.

Ommad returned to the spot he’d left yesterday at the evening call to prayer. Working with expert precision, he pinchedthe cool, thick leaves with fingers permanently stained by berry juice. He lopped off branches with a tool he’d forged in seasons past. He kept it sharp, and it bit through thick branches as if they were slender stalks. The fields were silent save for the dignified shuffle of cloaks swirling through the long grass as other
rahibs
went about their tasks. Dawn brightened slowly into early morning as the first sun rose.

Then he saw it.

The dewberry was a fine specimen, red, glistening, and bulging with juice, outshining the others clustered around it on the branch. Today’s private transgression would be worth any consequence, whatever it might be. Ommad smiled, imagining a whole orchard full of
imams
as secretly mischievous young
rahibs
, each stealing and savoring just one fruit. Just like this one.

Even as his eager fingertips brushed against the fruit, a shadow engulfed him. Certain he’d finally been caught at his daily delinquency, he turned with a guilty grin, expecting at least a glint of humor behind the frown.

Ommad’s grin gave way to horror when he saw what cast the shadow. Behind him loomed the thick, hairy back of a demon as it scooped up a nearby
rahib
—was it the soft-voiced Jamid from Sarahin?—and snapped the boy in two with strong jaws before he could even scream.

Without thinking, Ommad dropped to the ground and rolled beneath the briar. Deep instinct told him to make himself as small as he could. Also without thinking, he held the handle of his pruning tool in a soldier’s grip. Where had he learned that?