Tales of Alhazred

by Donald Tyson

  “Why should that concern you?”

  “Because I have come to bring justice to Allesalasallah and avenge her murder. I am of her blood, and I challenge you to single combat.”

  “That is not possible,” I said, edging closer to my sword. “Before her death, Allesalasallah bound herself by oath that none of her brothers and sisters should ever harm me or any of my household in any way.”

  He nodded, regarding me the way a man looks upon something that has become stuck to the sole of his boot. “I know of her oath. All djinn of her blood know of it.”

  “Then why are we talking? Bring the girl back to me and I will overlook your rudeness.”

  “You have affection for the woman,” he said.

  “No. But she is a useful servant.”

  “You lie. Across the length and breadth of the Empty Space you are known as a liar.”

  “You said it yourself, Xhalarhinni, you are of Allesalasallah’s blood. You are sworn not to harm me or any of my house. Bring the girl back.”

  He smiled, and there was something terrible in it. “I am neither her brother nor her sister. I am her son.”

  I studied him. There was indeed something otherworldly about his face, his body, even the way he held himself. He was inhumanly handsome. His voice was more melodic than any man’s voice had any right to be. He radiated an aura of physical strength and dominance.

  “Do you mean that you are half djinn and half human?”

  “Even as you are. But this is not my natural form. I have adopted it so that I may offer you fair combat as an equal.”

  In my village in Yemen there had been a persistent rumor that my mother had lain one night with a djinn of the desert, and that I was the result. As a boy I had always discounted the rumor, believing it based on nothing more than my pale complexion and gray-green eye color. But sometimes I wondered whether there might be truth in it.

  “What do you mean, even as I am?”

  “Can it be you do not know the name of your real father?”

  I answered him with silence.

  He laughed with delight. “I see it is so. Before I kill you I will reveal this secret to you, so that it may torment you for eternity.”

  “I’m not like you.”

  “Your mother was human and your father djinn,” he said. “My mother was djinn and my father human. We are both half-breeds.”

  “Xhalarhinni, you have my sworn word, I never wished to harm your mother. She attacked me and compelled me to defend myself.”

  “Even were that true, it makes no difference. You killed her, and for that you must die.”

  Setting my razor down on the table by my bed, I took another gliding step toward the chair that held my sword.

  “Enough delay. You will come with me now of your own free will, or I will depart and kill your woman.”

  “Come where?”

  “I have taken her to another reality where we can conduct our duel without concern over interference.”

  “Another reality? Do you mean another world?”

  “I inherited my mother’s ability to walk the worlds,” he said with a trace of pride.

  “I am surprised Yog-Sothoth permits it.”

  His eyes widened at the utterance of the name of the Great Old One, which so few men know. He looked at me almost with a grudging respect. “The Gatekeeper would not dare oppose a djinn of the Seventh Circle.”

  This was an idle boast and we both knew it, but I let it pass. I kept my features impassive so that my concern for Martala would not reveal itself. “If I consent to go with you to fight this ridiculous duel, it is only just that I am permitted the choice of weapons.”

  He considered this, trying to think of some way such a concession could be turned against him, but at last he nodded. “I agree. Come with me, face me in single combat with your life as the prize, and I will allow you to choose the weapons.”

  “If I win, swear to me you will return both me and the girl to this house unharmed, and never trouble us thereafter.”

  “Agreed.” He smiled again that terrifying smile. “And if I win, I will rip out your liver and eat it while you watch.”

  “If you win, swear that you will return the girl unharmed. She had no part in your mother’s death.”

  He hesitated, his bloodlust warring with his sense of honor. At last he nodded. “Agreed.”

  I spread wide my arms and stepped toward him. “Then let us do this thing, so that I can be back in time for breakfast.”

  2.

  He spread his arms, holding the folds of his black thawb wide, and wrapped it around me. My face was hidden in his shoulder. I felt the immense power of his body and realized that he could snap my spine like a twig. He said he had chosen this body so that the fight would be fair, but he had not been completely honest. He was much stronger than I was, and probably quicker as well.

  The room began to spin around me and I heard a whirring sound. There was a crack upon the air. He released me, and I stumbled backward, reeling from dizziness. My stomach rolled and threatened to spill its contents, but fortunately it was empty.

  It was a place of shadows, but light came from somewhere because I could see in a dim way the feet and legs of the djinn who stood in a ring around us like great Egyptian pillars, silent and motionless. Their faces high above were cloaked in darkness, but I felt their eyes watch me with malicious satisfaction. They were bound by oath not to harm me or anyone of my house. That did not mean they couldn’t take pleasure in my death.

  “Alhazred, I’m over here.”

  Martala stood inside a spinning column of air. She did not appear to be hurt, but she was terrified.

  “Have they done anything to you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Can you walk over here?”

  “I can’t move.”

  Xhalarhinni watched me with satisfaction. So far, everything had gone as planned, and he was enjoying every moment.

  “Why not just kill me?” I asked him. “You’re strong enough. You must be, to have walked through the wards on my house as if they weren’t there.”

  “That would not be honorable. You killed a djinn of the Seventh Circle. You must be accorded respect.”

  “You mean I get to fight a fair and equal duel before an audience of my peers?”

  “We are not their equals.”

  “This duel is not fair,” I countered. “You are much more powerful than I am.”

  He shrugged. “In any contest, those who fight bring their own skills. When are warriors ever equal? It is the ground on which they fight that must be the same for both.”

  I could not argue. In any battle, one side was stronger than the other. The concept of a fair fight meant only that the more powerful warrior was free from manipulations or deceits to use his superior skill and strength to pummel his weaker foe into submission. But there was always the element of chance, and sometimes it produced an unexpected result.

  “I’m ready to choose our weapons,” I told him.

  “Good. Then choose.”

  “It is my choice that we contest against each other with dice.”

  He stared at me for a time. “That is a poor jest.”

  “It is my choice, and you have agreed to abide by my choice of weapons.”

  “Dice are not weapons.”

  “Those who use them contest against each other. There is a winner and a loser. Why should they not serve our purpose?”

  He looked up into the darkness at the hidden faces of the giants who surrounded us, and seemed to speak to them silently in his mind. When he returned his dark gaze to me, it blazed with impotent frustration. Extending his hand, he made a gesture in the air and turned his palm up. A pair of dice rested there.

  “Do these meet with your satisfaction?”

  I took the dice and examined them closely. They were made from elephant ivory, as all of the best dice are, and appeared perfect.

  Sashi, can you see any weights inside the spots? I asked in my
mind.

  No, my darling.

  Are the corners shaved?

  I do not know what this means.

  Are the corners all the same? Are they straight and square?

  They are the same, my love.

  “These will serve our purpose,” I said, tossing the dice back to Xhalarhinni, who caught them deftly out of the air.

  “How are we to use them?”

  “We will play a game called Over and Under. The rules are simple. We each cast the dice to establish our points. Then we cast again. Whoever has the high point must cast a lower number. Whoever has the low point must cast a higher number. If we both succeed in this, we go on to the next cast, and the numbers of our last cast become our base points. If we both fail, we go on to the next cast, and the numbers of our last cast become our base points. But if one of us fails and the other succeeds, the one with the successful throw wins the contest.”

  He pondered my words, looking for some deceit. “Is this a game played in Damascus?”

  “I doubt it. I just invented it.”

  “When did you invent it?”

  “While you were carrying me through the air.”

  He regarded me with less arrogance and more wariness. “What is the trick to it? I don’t trust you.”

  “There is no trick, Xhalarhinni. I’ve explained the rules. They are perfectly fair and equal.”

  Again, he seemed to consult with the silent statues standing around us. “Which of us shall throw the first cast?” he asked, his suspicion undiminished.

  “I give you the selection of who shall throw first.”

  “Then I will throw first,” he said quickly.

  “That is good. You throw first.”

  “You try to trick me. There is an advantage to throwing second.”

  “You may throw second if you wish. It is your choice.”

  His indecision might have been amusing to watch, were he not so intent on eating my liver.

  “I will throw second,” he said firmly.

  “Good. Give me the dice.”

  3.

  He handed the dice to me and we sat down on the ground facing each other with our legs crossed. It was hard-packed clay, and cold.

  I cupped my hands together, shook them so that the dice rattled, and extended them between us to drop the dice. We watched them bounce and roll.

  “A three and a two. Your number is five,” he said.

  He shook the dice in his cupped palms and released them. They rolled to a four and a three.

  “My number is seven,” he said.

  “I have the lower base point, so I can only win by throwing a number higher than five. You have the higher base point, and must cast a number lower than seven.”

  “The odds favor you,” he said with anger, glaring at me as though I had deceived him.

  “Do they?” I pretended to consider them. “Yes, I suppose they are in my favor.”

  I cast the dice a second time and rolled a nine. “I succeed in surpassing my number. Now it is your turn.”

  He took the dice with reluctance. Emotions played over his face. Shaking the dice, he dropped them with anger and glared at them, then visibly relaxed. “Four. I also succeed. I have the low number, and you the high. Therefore you must cast a number lower than nine, and I must cast higher than four. Is that not correct?”

  “You are correct, Xhalarhinni.”

  Life is always a gamble, I told myself as I accepted the dice.

  Whatever happens, I am with you, my dearest love.

  I know you are, Sashi, I told her in my thoughts. It was a comfort.

  Since accepting the djinn into my flesh more than a year ago, I had come to depend on her not merely for her lovemaking, which was the only act of love possible for me since King Huban had made me a eunuch, but for her wise advice. When she left my skin for brief periods, I felt empty.

  I cast the dice.

  “Ten,” the half-djinn said with vindictive delight. “You fail to cast below your point.”

  “You have still to make your cast,” I reminded him quickly.

  “I must roll a number higher than four. The odds favor me greatly.”

  “You haven’t gambled much, have you, Xhalarhinni?”

  “Why would I gamble? I have everything I need or want.”

  “A gambler knows that even when the odds are greatly in his favor, it is still possible to lose.”

  He cupped his hands and shook them as though trying to shatter the ivory cubes within by knocking them together, then released them, his eyes never leaving mine. “Now I take your liver.”

  I dropped my gaze, and let out my breath. “Three.”

  He slammed his clenched fists into the clay, and I felt the vibration of the ground through the bones of my buttocks.

  “You are cheating. I know you, Alhazred of the Black Spring Clan. You are a liar and a deceiver. Everything you do is a tissue of lies. You have found a way to cheat.”

  “They are your dice, Xhalarhinni, not mine,” I reminded him calmly.

  “This is an idiot’s duel. Take up a sword and fight me like a man.”

  “If you wish to forfeit the duel, say so.”

  He calmed himself with an effort of will. Only his eyes continued to blaze. “You must cast below ten, I must cast above three. Is that correct?”

  “That is correct,” I told him.

  For some reason, I had a bad feeling when I picked up the dice. Call it a foreshadowing. I rolled them between my fingers and tried to calm myself. There was nothing to be gained by hesitation. I cupped my hands and dropped the dice.

  “A five and a six. Eleven. You fail,” he said.

  With an eager hand he snatched up the dice and shook them, then released them. I knew the outcome before the dice stopped rolling.

  “Seven. I cast a seven. I have won the duel. Your flesh is mine.”

  Snatching up the dice, I leaped to my feet and held them high above my head. “Djinn of the Seventh Circle,” I shouted upward into the darkness. “I demand justice. Xhalarhinni has cheated. These dice have been tampered with.”

  “You lie, false dog.”

  “Where is the honor of the Seventh Circle? Examine these dice and tell me they are not weighted.”

  “Do not listen to Alhazred. He is a deceiver. He deceived your sister, Allesalasallah, to her death.”

  I did not turn to face him, but I expected his sword to cut me down from behind at any moment. The sword-stroke never came. Instead, one of the giants extended a hand, and I placed the pair of dice on the vast expanse of its palm. The hand rose upward and vanished into the shadows.

  Were the dice weighted, Sashi? I asked in my mind.

  I do not know, Alhazred.

  Martala’s gaze was upon me. All during the dicing she had not uttered a single word. Her face was calm and resolute. Whatever the outcome, I knew she would face it better than I. Her courage was far greater than mine.

  The outcome would depend on whether I had interpreted Xhalarhinni’s nature rightly, and whether the djinn of the Seventh Circle truly did have a code of honor. It was another gamble, like a throw of the dice, but this time the odds were long indeed.

  “You and the woman will be returned to Damascus,” a deep voice rolled down like thunder from the heavens.

  “No!” Xhalarhinni screamed. “You swore to me that I would have my vengeance.”

  “The half-blood sought to deceive you,” the voice con-tinued, ignoring Xhalarhinni as though he were a petulant child. “The dice are indeed weighted, as you said they were.”

  Xhalarhinni drew his sword and tried to rush upon me, but some invisible force held him back.

  “I have not done with you, necromancer,” he said venomously.

  “Be true to your word, and trouble me and my house no more,” I told him.

  “You will never learn who your father is,” he said, and vanished.

  The column of light that held Martala prisoner faded away, and she ran to embrace me.
The air around us began to spin and roar.

  “How did you know?” she shouted into my ear-hole, holding me tight.

  “Xhalarhinni could not believe I would contest with him fairly,” I said with lips close to the side of her head. “He was certain I would try to cheat, so I decided to choose a weapon that would ensure complete fairness. Since he was so convinced I would cheat, I judged that he would not be able to resist cheating himself, to avoid being cheated.”

  “Then you weren’t certain the last cast of the dice would be loaded?”

  “It was a gamble,” I admitted. “What are the days of our lives, but one throw of the dice after another?”

  Her answer was lost in the roar of the wind. I felt the ground fall away beneath my feet.

  ¼

  Hand of Nilus

  1.

  The audience chamber of Abbot John Climacus, leader of the Holy Monastery of Sinai, was surprisingly well furnished. Colorful tapestries hung on the walls and an excellent Persian rug covered the floorboards. Shelves of books stood behind his intricately carved writing desk. Above them hung a painted wooden panel of Christ as a babe, sitting in the lap of the Virgin Mary.

  The abbot was a spry little bearded man well past middle age, but the twinkle in his blue eyes made him appear much younger. He wore robes of white silk, embroidered at the hem in a discreet way with gold thread. His eyes strayed to the polished skull that hung at my belt, but he made no comment. I wondered how he would react to my grotesquely disfigured face, which at present was concealed behind a spell of glamour.

  Indicating that I should sit in a chair padded with red velvet, he went to a table against the wall and poured pale wine into two silver cups that were adorned on their sides with crosses. He handed me a cup and pulled a chair around to face mine.

  I sampled the wine. It was excellent, much better than would be expected in such a rocky and barren wasteland. It took the utmost care and constant tending to make anything grow here. The only green lay just beyond the high monastery walls where the monks watered their orchard and garden daily. The steep slopes of the gorge at the base of Mount Sinai had not a single blade of grass. I could see one of them out the window, rising like the wall of a prison to block half the blue sky.