But his voice was sharp enough as he said, ‘I have never heard that my nephew has a messenger called Ahmed bin Ali.’
‘Respected Father,’ said Omar, handing him Gur Thalab’s gold ring, ‘though I have his token, I am not really his messenger. I have business of my own in Kirtis, but I was lately – only a few hours ago – with your nephew Gur Thalab al Kutroob, in Mydannar, and he asked me to tell you this: that he would be coming home, to take on his destiny.’
Something flared in the old man’s eyes. Looking down at the gold ring in his palm, he said, just like the other man had done, ‘Then it is a great day.’ He put the ring on his finger, paused, and went on, ‘In Mydannar, you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it has begun,’ said the old man quietly, and an extraordinary smile spread over his face – a smile in which ferocity and joy and regret were all mixed. ‘I am glad I have lived to see this. I only hope I can live long enough to see the end, and the tyrant crushed underfoot, and all his kin destroyed.’
Omar’s heart leapt with fear.
‘Sir, Gur Thalab asked if you could help me with my business, which is to find nablaylee for a friend of mine who lies under a grievous spell – the Spell of Darkness – and who will die if I do not return as soon as I can with the antidote.’
‘You will get the help,’ said the old man. ‘But nablaylee must be sought at night, not in the middle of the day. You will stay here and dine with us, Ahmed bin Ali, and when night falls I will send my sons and my most trusted men with you to the mountains to find the plant.’ He smiled, surprisingly sweetly. ‘You are most welcome in the home of Hirpus al Kutroob.’
He reached a hand out to stroke Ketta, who purred and arched her back. Omar saw the old man’s expression change, then he said quietly, ‘Of course. You are a Jinn. Welcome to our house, too.’
Thirteen
There was plenty of roast mutton, fried eggs and okra, tomatoes and good fresh bread, and dried apricots and figs, all washed down with sweet hot tea flavoured with cardamom. Omar hadn’t realised how hungry he was before the smell of the food filled his nostrils, and he ate till he felt like he was about to burst. But then, he had eaten neither breakfast nor lunch, and his banquet in the palace with his uncle felt like a very long time ago. Ketta simply drank a bowl of milk, and that only in little delicate sips. But after all, Jinns did not need to eat at all; their nature, created of the smokeless flame, was very different to that of humans.
There were many people gathered around Hirpus al Kutroob’s table. There was his wife, Shireen, as old and wrinkled as himself, but with bright blue eyes set in a delicate, high-boned face that showed she had once been a great beauty. There were his sons, Burhaan and Darseen. There was Burhaan’s blonde wife, Bachshan, who like Shireen was unveiled – for the women of Kirtis did not wear the veil – and who was dressed in the traditional bright, embroidered dress of Kirtis. Darseen, it appeared, was a widower. There were also the grandchildren, from a sulky teenager to a chattering four-year-old, whom everyone seemed to pet and indulge; and there were various assorted relatives, aunts, uncles, cousins. At a lower table were nursemaids and secretaries – this was a big household, with many servants and employees.
There was a great deal of talk over the meal about Gur Thalab’s return and what it meant for Kirtis, and the fight against the tyrant, and the possible return of the Shadow Walkers. When The Vampire’s name was mentioned there seemed to be none of the fear normally associated with it. Scorn and hatred, yes, but no fear.
Omar heard stories about the killings, tortures and arrests by his uncle’s troops in this part of the country, and he felt ashamed. And rather scared, for he knew now that his uncle had done unforgiveable things, here and elsewhere. It was unlikely any mercy would be shown to him, or any members of his family and entourage, if the rebellion succeeded and the tyrant fell.
He wasn’t so much scared for himself but for his mother and sister, and the members of his household. They had had no part in the crimes of his uncle, but would anyone remember that, or just condemn them to die because of their associations? He thought, once I’ve rescued Latifa I’m going to go back home, tell Mother everything, and flee with her and Mariam and everyone who wants to come with us, into Ameerat, or Parsari, or anywhere. I wish I could come here – but once they know who I am, they’ll hate me, for sure. They can’t all be like Latifa.
These thoughts began to spoil what was otherwise a very pleasant meal, where he was being treated as an honoured and welcome guest of the family. Only the comforting presence of Ketta, pressed against his foot under the table, kept Omar from sinking into misery. She was a reminder that at least two souls – a girl and a Jinn – did not mind his family associations, but had trusted him, for his own heart. He couldn’t expect many others to feel the same, though. If, like Hirpus, his kin and many others close to him had died because of The Vampire, he might find it hard to show mercy.
As if she could read his thoughts, Ketta’s voice rang in his head: ‘Stop mooning, Omar. Don’t forget Gur Thalab. And don’t forget what he told you about his other uncle, Gorg, who’s gone over to the enemy.’
That reassured Omar somewhat. There was indeed that other uncle, the traitor Gorg, who worked in the White Wolves secret police unit. Omar had heard no mention of him over dinner; probably everyone had completely disowned him.
At that moment, Burhaan turned to Omar.
‘I and some of our men will be taking you up the mountain tonight, Ahmed bin Ali,’ he said. His blue eyes, so like his mother’s, regarded Omar frankly. ‘Darseen will not be coming. He has other work to do. Now, Ahmed, it is not an easy journey and you cannot take your flying carpet, for the mountain at night has its own magic and repels all foreign sorcery. We will lend you warm clothes, proper boots and special tweezers to pluck the herb, as well as a little lead-lined jar to store it in.’
He saw Omar’s puzzlement, and explained: ‘Nablaylee can strip the flesh from your bones if you try to pick or store it without protection. It is a dangerous plant, though potent in cases of the darkest sorcery.’
Darseen, whose narrow face bore a striking resemblance to his father’s, said, ‘The Spell of Darkness is very rarely performed, for it is almost as perilous to the one who performs it as it is to its victim. What kind of sorcerer would take such a risk?’
Everyone had fallen silent, waiting for Omar’s answer. He gulped and waited for Ketta to speak in his head, but she said nothing.
So he ventured, ‘It was an Akamenian sorcerer.’
‘The Akamenian mages do not usually do such things,’ said Darseen, frowning. ‘I have done a little study of these practices. Evil magic is strictly forbidden to them. Was it a renegade, then?’
‘I – I think s – so,’ stammered Omar, blushing. ‘I do not know much about these things. I only know that it was done, and that my friend Latifa is insensible to the world now.’
‘Latifa,’ said Burhaan, smiling. ‘She is a Marshlander, your friend?’
‘Yes. Well, anyway, her mother was.’
‘She comes from Mydannar?’
‘I do not think so. She said her village had been destroyed,’ said Omar.
‘Tell us about the Carpet Enchantress,’ said Hirpus. ‘It is good to know skilled ones still exist.’
‘Her name is Layla,’ said Omar, glad to get on to another subject. ‘Layla is younger than I thought an Enchantress would be, but she appears to be quite good. It was she who was going to introduce Gur Thalab to the Marshland Gathering. She said she knew him, from childhood.’
‘That was when he first had to flee Kirtis,’ said Hirpus gravely. ‘The werewolf curse had come on him early, and he could not cope well with it. When he was in the full throes of the malady, Gorg took the opportunity to move on his stronghold. He killed my poor brother the Arga and took his throne, and promptly outlawed Gur. I know Gur found great refuge in the Marsh –’
‘That’s as may be,’ said Darseen in harsh tones,
‘but there is still no telling if it was not the Marshlanders themselves who betrayed him. I don’t really trust them. Besides, in the past they’ve never been too keen on actually helping, other than hiding fugitives. Safe in the marshes, they concentrate only on defending their borders. We don’t have a choice, here, for there’s no death-bog to protect us.’
‘She seemed to think Gur Thalab could persuade them,’ said Omar, more relaxed now.
‘I’m not sure I like the whole idea,’ snapped Darseen. ‘There’s all kinds in the marshes – creatures I wouldn’t trust on a dark night.’
‘There are here, too, brother,’ said Burhaan. ‘Many people in Mesomia wouldn’t trust us.’
‘Bah, they’re fools,’ said Darseen. ‘You’re right, there’s all sorts here. But it’s different in the marshes. There are beings whose whole business is death, whose whole nature is wrapped up in sly and vicious destruction.’
‘And they might well be useful to us, my son,’ broke in Hirpus. ‘You forget, they’ll be under the leadership of their own people, not ours. I am sure there are laws in the marshes, too, that even the worst marsh-siren or bog-pirate must follow. After all, there have been many exiles gone there, and survived.
‘Darseen, my son, if the Marshlanders join us, it will be a great day. It may well be the signal for all kinds of others, all over the country, to shake off the unmanning terror of The Vampire and march together, in unison, against him. We’ve never had that unity and we need to find it, now. Or else we will simply vainly dash ourselves once more against the iron walls of the tyrant. Kirtis is brave, but Kirtis cannot fight this alone.’
‘Especially as not all of Kirtis is with us,’ said Shireen, suddenly joining the discussion. ‘Do not forget, my children, that the enemy is not only without, it is within.’
She seemed to look directly at Omar as she said this, and he quailed inwardly, but tried to get a grip on himself. She must be talking about the traitorous uncle and cousins who joined the White Wolves, he thought, not me. She wasn’t looking at me, not really, but at her sons, sitting either side of me. Though this was the logical explanation, it did not altogether quell his fear, and he was glad when the others, after a short pause, left the subject and began to talk instead about the return of the Shadow Walkers.
Omar listened for a while, thinking of the phantom figures he’d seen on the night of the ambush. Soon, his attention drifted to the clock, and he noticed that evening was beginning to draw in at the uncurtained windows. Ketta slept at his feet, and Omar’s mind began to wander. He’d never been on a mountain at all, for the landscape was flat around his own home, and near Madinatu as well, which bordered on the desert. This would be the first time, and in the dark, too. He couldn’t help feeling nervous, thinking of the stories he’d heard of the wild beasts, like wolves, bears and lynx, that roamed the mountains. But I’ll be with mountain men; there’s nothing to be afraid of, he told himself. Yet they were not ordinary mountain men. They were members of a werewolf clan, with kin who had become White Wolves. Could you ever, completely, trust a werewolf, a shape-shifter? Then he reproved himself. Sleeping at his feet, comforting him with her presence, was a shape-shifter who had shown him nothing but help and protection.
Fourteen
The moon was already high in the sky when they set out. Omar was surprised Burhaan didn’t want to go in the dark of night, but he explained that if it was very dark they would have to carry lights, and that these could more clearly be seen bobbing around on the mountain than figures moving in moonlight. Joining Omar and Burhaan were five other men, employees of the household, young and tough-looking. They all wore dark-grey clothes that would blend in with the rock, and their faces were swathed in cloth of the same colour, leaving only the eyes visible.
The first section of the journey was easy enough, as the path up the mountain was quite broad at first, and lined with sparse woodland. Burhaan told Omar that shepherds used the path to bring their beasts up and down from the summer pastures. Tonight, it was deserted and very silent, apart from Omar’s footsteps – the men were soft-footed as Ketta – and the occasional whisper from Burhaan.
The path got narrower as they climbed, and soon Omar began to puff and pant a little. They passed the way that led to the summer pastures and kept heading up, up, and now the path petered out in a scree of pebbles. The woods had disappeared long ago, and there were only harsh-looking bushes. Even these began to get rarer and rarer as they climbed on, and the air to get thinner. Omar’s breath now came in raw gasps, but he shook his head firmly when Burhaan asked him if he wanted to stop. He was determined not to complain, especially as the mountain men showed no sign of even raising a sweat, and Ketta loped along beside him, looking quite unruffled and utterly cool. Ha, he thought tiredly to himself, I’d not mind being a shape-shifter right now so I could transform into some creature that climbs easily. Not a goat, though – not in such company!
He stumbled. A large stone was dislodged under his shoe and rattled off down the mountainside, making an appalling amount of noise. He smiled weakly.
‘Sorry.’
‘You have to rest,’ said Burhaan decisively. ‘There’s still the most difficult part to go, and you’re looking like your breath might give out any moment.’
‘No, I’m –’ began Omar, but Burhaan waved his words aside.
‘Sit down,’ he ordered, pointing to a nearby boulder.
So Omar did as he was told. He caught his breath, and drank some hot sweet cardamom tea from a flask, and chewed on some dried figs, and began to feel much better, though his legs were still trembly and there was a bit of an ache in his side.
The men talked amongst themselves and under the cover of their conversation, Omar touched Ketta and whispered, ‘I do not think I like mountains very much.’
‘You’re not alone there,’ said Ketta, though she still looked quite unfazed by her climb. ‘There are too many big hunters here, and too few small prey.’
‘Yes, you’d make a mouthful for a bear or a wolf or a lynx, wouldn’t you?’ whispered back Omar, with a tiny grin. Ketta arched her back crossly.
‘You forget I’m a Jinn. I might well give them a fright they wouldn’t forget in a hurry,’ she huffed. She sat down, turned her back on Omar and began very deliberately to wash her face.
They set off again very shortly. As Burhaan had said, it got even more difficult. The slope rose so steeply that Omar felt if he tried to climb standing up, he’d fall over backwards. So he crept and crawled up the slope, trying to hold on to the few hardy bushes that still grew from time to time out of crevices in the rocks.
Suddenly, Burhaan stopped. They had come to a sheer wall of black rock, whose surface looked as slippery as ice. Hammered into the rock was a succession of alarmingly frail pegs, forming a kind of sketchy ladder all the way to the top.
Burhaan said, ‘The plant grows up there, in a cleft near the top. It is you who must pick it, Ahmed.’ He pulled out a small lead-lined jar from his pack. It was hanging on a chain. ‘Put this around your neck. This is what you must put the herb in.’ He pulled out the tweezers, whose handle was steel, but whose ends were tipped with lead. ‘And this is what you must use to pluck it. Put it in your top pocket. So.’
Omar shivered, looking up at that ghastly sheerness. ‘I … I …’
‘Don’t worry, Ahmed. Farid here –’ he said, pointing to a lithe, wiry young man in the party – ‘will take you up. He’s the best rock-climber amongst us. And you’ll be roped to him. There’s nothing to worry about, really.’
Farid smiled, showing bright white, rather pointed teeth.
‘Nothing at all,’ he echoed.
Omar swallowed. His legs were so trembly that he thought they might give way, but he tried to stand straight, and replied casually, ‘Very well, then. I’m ready.’
As Farid got the rope prepared, Omar put a hand down to Ketta.
‘Please, help me. I hate the look of that rock.’
‘I can�
�t come with you,’ said the cat. ‘It’s not because of the rock, but I’m a Jinn and I can’t touch nablaylee or all my powers will be lost. That’s how it works, don’t you see? It negates the power of a Jinn that a sorcerer has summoned – in this case, a ghoul. Just remember this: pick only one sprig of it – it’s soft, comes off easily with the tweezers – and as soon as you’ve done so, put it in that lead-lined jar they’ve given you. You’ll be safe with it then. And don’t worry – it looks like these men know what they’re doing. It’s not the first time they’ve done it, I am sure.’
So, heart sinking, Omar allowed himself to be roped up and he followed Farid to the great wall of rock. They began climbing. Omar kept his eyes firmly fixed on Farid’s boots as they went nimbly up and up, stepping from peg to peg. He must not think of the black sheerness above him, how high it was, and how, when they’d climbed up, they’d have to climb down again.
Halfway up, he felt suddenly dizzy.
Farid said, ‘Are you all right?’ and Omar, clinging to the rope, trying hard not to imagine the emptiness below, managed to croak, ‘Fine. Really, I’m fine.’
A bit more climbing, and now he could see the cleft where the plant grew, a little to the left of the rope; then a bit more and he could see the plant itself. It was a small bush, rather frail-looking, with little soft grey-green leaves in the shape of crescent moons, and tiny flowers that gleamed with a strange, white-hot radiance.
‘Ready?’ called Farid. ‘We’ll have to swing out a little for you to pick some. Quickly.’
The rope swung alarmingly, and Omar dangled against the rock, just under the cleft. Almost sick with fear and vertigo, he reached out a trembling tweezered hand, grabbed at a sprig of the plant, plucked it, and felt something like a small electric shock go through him at the contact. But somehow he clung on to the rope with one hand and the plant with the other.
The Tyrant's Nephew Page 8
