He neither acknowledged their presence, nor did he respond. He simply remained motionless—as if paralysed.
“Ushwan! Ushwan!” said Shem. “It’s useless; he’s numb in his senses. What have you done?”
He turned to Khalam-Sharru.
“I haven’t done anything—I’m not their keeper.”
“Nevertheless, you’re Shaffu. Your people do this routinely. Have you tortured him?”
“Almost certainly—as you have me.”
“We did it for a righteous cause. What do you do it for?”
“Is torture righteous? You believe in doing good—we believe in doing what Asharru wills—good or evil.”
“You admit that you are evil?” asked Shem.
“By your standards, perhaps. In any case, however he’s been treated, we have to extract him—immediately.”
“Ushwan—look, you’ve got to snap out of it. We have to go,” said Ifunka in an urgent tone.
Ushwan turned and looked at them. His face was stone-cold, as if he had been drained of all sensibility and feeling.
“You’re just ghosts—phantasms conjured by my sick mind, mateys. Jolly good effort for trying to rescue me but I’m afraid you don’t exist. I’d rather you all disappeared, actually; I can’t bear to remember pleasanter days.”
“We’re real, Ushwan; we’re here to save you!”
“Open the cell, Khalam-Sharru, so we can prove it to him.”
“I’m looking for the keys,” replied Khalam-Sharru. “Give me a moment!”
He found the key and opened the cell. Ushwan sat up, alarmed.
“Phantasms don’t usually open cells?” he said, confused.
“Because we’re real, Ushwan, real as you.”
“By God!” he exclaimed. “Is it true? How have you crossed such a distance and overcome such odds?”
“Faith, brother,” said Ifunka. “And the Will of the Great Spirit.”
“We had help from some friends along the way,” explained Shem. “Even a wandering bard who showed us the way, and an elderly sage called Tvem, who taught us the basics of the nine-fold path.”
“A wandering minstrel?” exclaimed Khalam-Sharru. “That’s peculiar…”
The monks rushed into the cell and embraced their friend—the goal of their long journey. Tears streamed down their faces—they could not believe how fortunate they were; how many tests and trials they had overcome, how many lives had been sacrificed, how many dangers they had faced, how many sufferings they had endured. And Ushwan—how he had suffered, how he had endured days and weeks of distress in the dismal dungeon, fearing for his life, not knowing when the inevitable would come. He had lived through nights which seemed to stretch for all eternity and days filled with bleak misery, deprivation of every pleasure and kindness, meagre, tasteless food, lack of every comfort or satisfaction.
“The other cells; we must open them also,” said Shem as he wiped away his tears.
“Are you mad, monk?” asked Khalam-Sharru. “We’re already too large in numbers. How do you expect us to save them all? That wasn’t the deal!”
“We have a duty to these people,” said Shem.
“The only duty I have is to myself and my daughter.”
“Shem, I’m afraid he’s right. We can’t save them.”
“Ifunka!”
“What do you want us to do?” asked Ifunka. “Bring thirteen prisoners on the streets, scale the wall with all of them, avoid the watchmen, worms and shan and still make it back to civilization alive?”
“We’ve overcome so many odds!” Shem protested.
“This is one too many!”
“At least let us open their cells. They’re going to die anyway.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“Mad—the both of you! I won’t do it.”
“You don’t have to, Khalam-Sharru. Just give me the keys!”
“No.”
“Well, I’ll get them from the guard.”
“Alright, take them!”
Khalam-Sharru gave Ifunka the keys. He opened each cell, reviving the disturbed prisoners who all reacted, at first with disbelief and then jubilation. Six men and six women, from every corner of the Old Central Kingdom which borders on the Great Forest of Ffushkar, viz. from the provinces of Okayeshvi, Ritvator and Ffantbav. Merchants, apprentices, nuns and novices—they were all virgins—young and old—snatched away by their insidious captors.
“Listen, all of you,” said Ifunka. “I’ve freed you; but that’s all I can do. You have a chance now, to escape, which will mean overcoming the watchmen outside this building. Brother Ushwan, Shem and I, along with Khalam-Sharru, must go alone. Stay here ten minutes before you come after us. I can’t help you further.”
“You can’t just leave us,” said an elderly nun. “I’m a sister from Ffantplain; my name is Mela Shiffwoff. Can a brother abandon a sister?”
“A sister? How unusual. I’ve not met any sisters before! Nevertheless, the answer is ‘yes’. We must leave you, I’m afraid, because there’s no other option.”
“We don’t stand a chance!” protested a lanky merchant. “Look at me—I’m skin and bones. I’ve never been a strong man—a fighting man.”
“Trust in the Great Spirit, my friend,” said Ifunka.
“Look, Ifunka, this isn’t right!” said Shem.
“What is right, then, Shem—that we all die”
“No, that we all should live!”
“Help us,” said the merchant. “My name is Wenta Shainbev and I am a cloths merchant. I have an elderly mother who needs me. Oh, please won’t you help us?”
He burst into tears.
“I want to get married, have a family,” said a young lady, about seventeen years’ old. “I’m Ffila Tvedraff; I’m an only child. Without me, my poor parents will have no grandchildren!”
“I’ve never been kissed,” said another woman, about twenty. “Love, passion, sweet love-making, have all eluded me till now. Oh, death is a horrible thing! Please help me! My name is Shatva Shilbam.”
“Enough!” shouted Ushwan. “We all want to live, but what are you all going to do about it?”
The prisoners looked one at another.
“Who doesn’t want to live? I’d gladly die for all of you, but you’ve heard them. They’ve come to rescue me, and they have only one chance. Help and you might have a chance too.”
Ifunka whispered in his ear: “They can’t help us.”
“Of course they can!” Ushwan replied fervently. “You’re here to save me, chaps, so lend me your ears. Two of them will dress in the armour of the guards.”
“That takes care of two of them. What about the other ten?” asked Ifunka.
“They are transporting the prisoners, old boy,” said Ushwan.
“Impossible,” said Khalam-Sharru decisively. “The watchmen will not believe that all the prisoners are being moved at once. It’s incredible—utterly incredible. They’ll alert other councilmen who will forthwith dispatch us all to the realm of death and destruction.”
“A conundrum—a bloody puzzling one to be sure,” said Ushwan. “Kasharoo—that’s your name isn’t it?” He turned to Khalam-Sharru.
“No, Khalam—…”
“Yes, yes, all right—something foreign. Anyway, do you know any discreet or hidden routes out of this confounded piss-post?”
“Language!” Ifunka protested.
“The tongue moves as the spirit lists,” Ushwan replied. “Anyhow–what and whatever—do you have a solution or not, Kasheroo?”
“Khalam-Sharru!” he shouted. “And yes, I do.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about this earlier?” Shem asked.
“Never mind that!” said Ushwan. “Go on, Kashrut, tell us the what—and—wherefore.”
“You me
an the what-and-whereto?” corrected Shem.
“Whatever! Let Kashby tell us.”
“Khalam-Sharru!”
“Go on, man!”
“I will have my name pronounced correctly!”
“I was just ribbing you. Take the feather and jump.”
“What?”
“Kalam-Sharru.”
“Good enough. As I was saying—there is a way out through the emergency escape tunnel, which the councilmen had constructed for purposes of egress in case of siege or invasion.”
“Excellent!” Ushwan rejoiced. “We’re saved—all of us!”
“Perhaps,” said Khalam-Sharru. “But we have to enter it from the Council Chamber itself”
“So?”
“So, we must climb the stairs to the main lobby, get past the watchmen at the door to the chamber, enter the chamber, kill any witnesses within—if there are any—and then enter the tunnel. If we succeed in that, well, if the twelve succeed in that—for we must go back to my house to find rva and Meyla—then you will have to avoid the shan and forest worms, walk through countless kobotvs of deep forest without provisions or a tent and reach civilization. Even then, you’re dead.”
“Dead? Why?”
“Tell us what you were up to before you got captured,” Khalam-Sharru asked Ushwan.
“Reading, I suppose.”
“Reading? About what?”
“About bandits—about the demon-worshippers.”
“And then?”
“I was walking to the privy to relieve my bladder when I was suddenly surrounded by four men in black who gagged and restrained me, blindfolded me and carried me away in a cloth bag.”
“How did they know you had read about us; how did they know your habits of relieving yourself and the location of your cell?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea!”
“Ha, khaffshik cattle!” Khalam-Sharru laughed. The companions frowned.
“Hold your tongue, infidel!” Ifunka warned him.
“Who are the ignorant—who are the infidels? How about your bishops—your priests?” Khalam-Sharru asked. “You do not know the half of it! We have lived here, at peace, for millennia, because your theocracy sustains us.”
“You work for the Theocracy?” asked Shem.
“You amuse me, monks!” he replied. “The Theocracy works for us!”
“Lies!” cried the nun.
“Misinformation!” cried another.
“Let him speak,” urged Ifunka.
“We protect the Theocracy—remove its enemies, cull its excess population, for a fee of protection; a hundred thousand patsimads per year, a thousand meb-goats, three thousand zig-chickens, five hundred ells of woffgi-silk, and a hundred ffentbaffs. See you not how splendorously-arrayed is our great city? This is the wealth of Kubbawa, the taxes of your people sustaining ours—the top predators—the children of Asharru!”
“Say you are speaking the truth; what would happen if the Theocracy stopped paying and supporting you?”
“We would march on your cities, towns and villages, raping, pillaging and burning them to the ground. We would slaughter and eat your men, women and children. Asharru, with one flick of his finger, would reduce your walls to ashes and melt your swords and spears. We would not stop until all of Tremnad were cleansed of the khaffshiks, so that Shaffu might reign from the Seas of Matvakakan and Offlising unto the Seas of Yatvegab and Sogyishifa!”
“I see,” said Ifunka. His heart sank; the nun fainted in disbelief.”
“You don’t even want to believe it,” said Khalam-Sharru.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Ifunka replied. “The Theocracy is a lie! If we survive this thing, we’ll have to teach the truth and undermine its foundations. Truth lies in the heart, not in priests and clergy.”
“Asharru will not tolerate it!”
“Asharru be damned! He can’t stop the truth.”
“Would you kill a god?”
“I would kill a man,” said Ifunka with firm determination. “Nevertheless, let’s do this. We must try to save the prisoners if we can.”
“Very well,” said Khalam-Sharru reluctantly. “Follow me.”
Two of the sturdiest prisoners donned the armour of the guards, and they all ascended to the entrance hall. Khalam-Sharru and the two pretended guards stood at front. They slowly made their way to the council chamber door. The two guards on either flank of the door eyed them suspiciously.
“Khuff shift-ôn ftâ-gei-yish-ô(what do you all want)?” they demanded.
Khalam-Sharrus spoke: “Marakh-ôn okh-ish; kha okh fteyn-krâ (I am a councilman; do not question me)!”
“Saff, saff (sorry, sorry),” they apologized.
Khalam-Sharru entered the chamber, followed by the others. There were three councilmen at the council-table, staring in wild disbelief at the mass of prisoners.
“Khuff fteff fto-yeym-ish-ô, â Khalam-Sharru (what is the meaning of this, O Khalam-Sharru)?” asked one of them.
“Lock the door! Bar it!” Khalam-Sharru ordered.
The pretended guards barred the door with a sword.
“Kherffê! Yoibê (rebellion! Intrigue)!” one of the councilmen cried.
“Zeft-Sharru,” Khalam-Sharru addressed him. “No one can hear you when this door is shut. The room is sound-proof; one of the glorious and ingenious features contrived by our great minds in order to preserve the dignity of our great Council!”
“Temni? Shfîkh-ôn ftâkh-em Temni-shivt ftâ-yish-ô (Tremni? You are speaking to us in Tremni)?”
“Yes, Tremni, my new adopted tongue,” he replied. “Why are you so surprised? Everyone must die some time.”
“But why, Khalam-Sharru?” asked another councilman. “We are your friends! Why have you released the khaffshiks?”
“I protect my own,” he replied. “I’m sure you can understand that, Shâl-Dey. And you too, Ftel-Daff. You have a daughter. Mine would have died had I not come here. This khaffshik—” he pointed to Ifunka. “Will take her to safety.”
“You’re dead for this,” warned Zeft-Sharru. “Sharru shall kill you all—and your precious daughter!”
“I think not,” he replied. “Kill them!”
The pretended guards hesitated.
“We’ll do it with you,” offered Ifunka.
The two monks charged the councilmen. Unarmed, they were quickly cut down and dismembered, their blood in pools soaking the mosaic floor with its sticky warmth, like paint spilled from an artisan’s paint pots. Their screams split the air but did not penetrate the council-chamber door or walls.
“Come this way,” called Khalam-Sharru.
He led them to the back of the chamber, where a circular mosaic of blue, azure, white and black adorned the wall. Pressing a seemingly random selection of stones, the mosaic swung counter-clockwise and sprung open, revealing a stone tunnel structurally supported with metal ribs.
“This descends half a kobotv and then two kobotvs out of the city, beyond the reach of the forest worms. A path lined with stones leads one hundred kobotvs north to the outskirts of the village of Weffbar. From there, one can make one’s way onwards to any other location.”
“Weffbar?” Ifunka asked. “The name sounds familiar.”
“It shouldn’t,” replied Khalam-Sharru. “It’s a small and insignificant village.”
“Go on then, friends, we must take another route. Remember, the Theocracy is a lie,” Ifunka instructed them. “Tell others so that the message may spread.”
“We will,” said Wenta Shainbev.
The twelve prisoners all made their way into the tunnel before Khalam-Sharru sealed it behind them.
“Right,” he said. “Now we must make our exit. We must return to my house post haste. We’ll gather supplies and scale the walls.”
&n
bsp; “Can’t we use this passageway?” asked Shem.
“No, we must give them time to escape and it’s too suspicious. The murdered councilmen shall soon be discovered—even before we return. We must leave straightaway!”
They exited the chamber, closing the door firmly behind them and proceeded to leave the Council Headquarters. They moved swiftly through the town until they reached Khalam-Sharru’s house. Overjoyed, they rushed to the door and entered. There, rva and Meyla had been waiting in anticipation. They embraced their lovers, and Khalam-Sharru, with joy. Ifunka introduced Brother Ushwan, who was delighted, as always, to meet beautiful young ladies.
“How do you chaps know such charming ladies?” asked Ushwan.
“That’s a long story,” replied Ifunka.
“Well, I should like to hear it, old boy.”
“We haven’t much time,” said Khalam-Sharru.
“Nevertheless, fill me in on the main facts.”
Ifunka described, in brief, how they met and then married the girls.
“Fantastic! Absolutely bonkers but fantastic nonetheless. I say, I never took you chaps for ladies’ men; I suppose I’ve underestimated you. Well done, boys; absolutely smashing!”
“Yes, well, we have much more to tell you of our journey, but we’re pressed for time.”
“I’m no stranger to the ways of women myself.”
“Well, surely the Sage ascertained your virginity.”
“No, old boy—we’ve seen no Sage. Anyway, whether I am a virgin or not is none of your business.”
“Ah yes, he’s supposed to be on his way from a journey,” Shem remarked.
“Yes, the Sage should be arriving today,” Khalam-Sharru agreed.
“How can you know that with any accuracy?”
“The Sage is not an ordinary man; he can see things which are invisible to other men—he can speak to trees and to animals and hear what they say; he can even move small objects with the force of mental will alone. He knows things no one else knows—how, we do not understand.”
“But what is the source of his power?”
“It is inherited, generation after generation. It’s said that he comes from the purest lineage.”
“Blood alone cannot give men power,” said Shem.
“Some say the mîmra—a field which embraces all of reality.”
The Rise of Plant Man, Lord of War, Conquest and Revenge: Green Monk of Tremn, Part II (Coins of Amon-Ra Book 2) Page 10
