The Waters of Eternity

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The Waters of Eternity Page 9

by Howard Andrew Jones

Amaharaziad nodded. “You are wise. And doubtless you now wear the amulet for yourself, and I must relinquish my hopes for it forever.”

  “Nay,” said Dabir. “It is not mine, nor yours, but the merchant’s.”

  Amaharaziad sneered. “He is unworthy.” He stared hard at Dabir. “You disappoint me, scholar. Did you, then, take on Mukhtar’s trouble only for gold?”

  “Only for curiosity. Which prods me to ask what you offered Mukhtar’s nephew? And how did you learn of this passage?”

  “In the days before the coming of the prophet,” Amaharaziad said darkly, “the fool merchant’s dwelling was once my family’s. And the nephew, pfah. Some are easy to buy with gold.” His eyes fell on me. “Your servant has not yet struck, Dabir.”

  “I would take you prisoner,” my friend said. “The governor will decide your fate.”

  Amaharaziad nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, “this, then, will do me no good.” He lifted the medallion. “Here.” With startling speed he flung it at my friend’s head. Dabir ducked, and I instinctively moved to intercept it with my sword.

  I missed. The medallion clanged as it fell into the stair beyond Dabir. I whirled back to Amaharaziad, who smirked. Smoke boiled from a small brass bottle he held in one hand. The fingers of the other toyed with a stopper.

  I raised my arm to strike, but in less time than it takes to draw breath, a shaggy-headed creature formed in the smoke between the two of us. It, too, had horns, and great clawed feet, but its torso was red and scaly, and its breath was foul. Its eyes burned like red coals.

  Amaharaziad stepped back. “Had you worn the amulet, this true efreet could not harm you. It is, as you said, not a subtle being, but can obey simple commands.” His voice became almost a purr. “Kill them.”

  “Run, Asim!” Dabir called. “The sword cannot slay it!”

  I kicked the costumed head at the real efreet and raced after my friend, thinking of what I’d boasted to the girl. It would be folly not to run from this foe. I heard the stone searing under its great feet as it followed. Amaharaziad’s mocking laughter rang off the stone walls.

  Dabir was fleet, and I too was swift, but I could feel the stinking breath of the efreet on my back, and took the final three stairs in a great leap, ducking my head so that I did not strike the ceiling.

  I stumbled on landing, gained my feet in time to hear the frying stone as the efreet reached for me.

  It drew back one clawed hand, howling, for I had swung. Two of its fingers twitched upon the ground.

  This was a far better result than I had expected, but I took the brief respite to run. Dabir was far ahead at this point, his lantern a bobbing spot of light in the gloom. At least, I thought, he might escape.

  But the light stopped.

  Behind me I heard the efreet, gradually gaining on us. Now I recognized words among its low grumbles. “I will rip your heart from your living body!”

  I reached Dabir’s side. We were near the other stairs, but my friend had stopped to press both hands against one of the ceiling joists. I understood his aim immediately, though I was sure he had misjudged the danger. “Go!”

  “Hold the final push ’til my return!” He clapped my shoulder, leaving the lantern, and dashed away. I thought it a poor plan; clearly there was little time for him to go anywhere, for a glance back down the tunnel showed me another lantern, drawing ever closer, doubtless in the hand of Amaharaziad. Before him came a moving mass of darkness in which two red spots glowed.

  I strained with all my might, grateful that Dabir at least would live. Above me the timber groaned and shifted, but did not give.

  The efreet was almost upon me. There was no time to push against the timber, but I might yet buy Dabir a few precious moments if I took up my sword.

  The thing swiped at me with its good hand, and I ducked back. Then came a thought worthy of my friend. I advanced with a flurry of strikes, and even that monstrous thing of Iblis retreated before my onslaught.

  It howled its rage and slashed at me once, twice. I backed toward the wall, ducked, and when it swiped again it clove clean through the timber.

  The ceiling joist swung down and smashed into my shoulder, knocking me backward. A cascade of stone fell between us, and the cold, dark Tigris roared in.

  “Asim!”

  Dabir cried out from just behind me, and a human arm clasped my waist, but then all was darkness, and I was under the chill water. Even still I could hear a distant boiling as the water poured onto the efreet.

  I was angry with Dabir, for I knew then that it was he who held me. My sacrifice would be in vain, for we both would perish.

  But Dabir’s hands guided mine to his waist, about which I found a rope, and suddenly we were moving through the cold, wet darkness. I realized that he was somehow pulling us forward and wished I’d had more time to gather breath.

  The water gushed in, pushing us with it, but still we did not reach our destination soon enough. When Dabir pulled me from the water I sat on my knees on a stair in the darkness, vomiting water back into the Tigris.

  A beam of moonlight shone down through the fountain’s open door to sketch the ladder and the wheel about which Dabir had affixed his rope.

  “You should not have come back,” I said, and coughed again. I was weak and my shoulder ached horribly.

  The surprise in his voice touched me. “I would not abandon you, Asim,” he said simply. I was blessed indeed to have such a friend.

  I could not help coughing again, but moved away from the water with the sudden thought that the efreet might step forth. “You might have been killed.”

  “It was not written,” he said, and though I could not see his face, I knew that he smiled.

  When we emerged to consult with Mukhtar, he banished his nephew from the house that very night, amidst many curses. He had effusive words of praise for us. “How,” he finished, “can I ever repay you?”

  “When the time comes,” Dabir answered, “give your daughter the amulet—it shall profit her as it has always profited your family. Her sex matters not.”

  “Indeed?!” The merchant’s voice rang with pleasure.

  “Also, there is an honest, capable man I know who would be a fine manager for you. Hassan ibn Musa is trustworthy. Hire him.”

  “It shall be as you say,” Mukhtar said, though his voice betrayed doubt. “Does he have a head for numbers?”

  “Nay, but your daughter does. Use your head, Mukhtar, and place your daughter in charge. This man shall front the business, and your daughter will run it.”

  Mukhtar nodded, slowly at first, then with growing admiration. “Verily, you have the wisdom of Suleiman!”

  “Nay, Suleiman knew when to hold his tongue.”

  I did not guess his meaning then, and later asked what he had meant.

  He frowned as a man does when tasting a sour melon. “I endangered us both when I told Amaharaziad that we did not have the amulet.”

  It was ever his way to be critical of his own abilities, despite much evidence to the contrary. As it happened, the pairing of Hassan with Durrah worked so well that the business prospered and the two were happily married. When last I heard, they had opened up a second and even more prosperous store, in Baghdad itself.

  The next morning we searched the cliffs across the river, recovering the monkey and several sinister books and scrolls and other belongings that interested Dabir overmuch. Also we took the head of the false efreet and the brass bottle from which the true efreet had come, and they sat for long years on the shelves of the receiving room.

  Of the efreet and his master there was no sign, but I was still wary even as we climbed from the caves and into the sunlight. “Do you think the efreet will return for us?”

  Dabir shielded his eyes and looked back at me. He gestured to the waters lapping against the cliff. “Creatures of fire do not mix well with water. It is perished or returned to Iblis.”

  “And took the Persian with him.”

  “Perhaps. Certa
inly, Amaharaziad was no fish.”

  “He might feed them well enough.”

  Dabir chuckled. “I have always heard it said that we Persians have delicate tastes. The fish may know the truth of the matter.”

  The Waters of Eternity

  I

  “I grieve with you, Governor,” said Dabir, “but I am not well schooled in medicines. I cannot help.”

  Governor Ahmed said nothing. He had eyes only for his daughter. The sleeping girl’s chest rose and fell quickly beneath a wealth of blankets. She did not stir as the governor brushed a hand tenderly over the dark tresses splayed across her pillow.

  I bowed my head. With but fourteen years, the girl’s candle would soon be snuffed. Her lips were faded and dry, her olive skin almost gray.

  “Come.” The governor stepped, a little unsteadily, from the bed. He had but lately risen from the sickbed himself, and from what I had seen might have left too soon. He glanced at the bearded hakim stationed in a chair beside the girl and walked for the scalloped exit arch.

  I followed him and Dabir into the corridor and to a reception room hung with colorful rugs, each woven with swirling patterns.

  The governor’s bearded guard captain, a stern man with great black eyebrows, wide of shoulder, rose from his cushions and bowed formally.

  The governor indicated the platter of food and wine with a shaking hand, then sank into a cushion across from the captain. We took cushions beside him as he formally asked us if we wished to partake of the refreshments. His voice was tired, soft. He had never been a large man, but he seemed shrunken almost to skin and bones, and the green turban atop his head looked a mighty weight that could overbalance his thin neck.

  Dabir and I politely declined.

  Captain Sarsour bent to pour a cup for the governor, then himself, letting fall a drop to the carpet. He was one of those who parsed holy words, which said not a drop of wine could be consumed. Thus he always spilled one before drinking as much as he wanted.

  “I see the look in your eyes, friends,” Governor Ahmed said, “but the hakim says I am mended. Lina is running out of time, though. Ari says the consumption is killing her and she has but days left.”

  Dabir and I bowed our heads; Lina had the same gentle spirit as her father and we had both grown fond of her over the years. I wondered then if the governor had summoned us merely to keep him company on a day of dark news.

  He cleared his throat and faced us directly, like a man readying to present news that made him uncomfortable. “It sounds preposterous,” he said slowly, “but were you a father whose child neared death, you would grasp each hope like a man in the desert stumbling after visions of water.”

  The governor paused and seemed to search for the words, or the will, to continue.

  “Go on, Excellency,” Dabir urged.

  “Legends speak of the Waters of Eternity, Dabir. You have heard of them?”

  “I have,” my friend answered cautiously.

  These waters were unknown to me, but I said nothing.

  “We have a map,” Captain Sarsour said suddenly.

  The governor nodded. “I believe it to be the real thing.”

  Dabir scratched at his beard, as if brushing fingers near his mouth would ease the flow of words. “There are many maps to fabled places,” he said at last. “And their makers sell them to profit from the greed of their buyers…or from their desperation.”

  “I told you, Governor,” the captain cut in. “We should not have waited.”

  His tone was unduly sharp, and I considered the fellow more closely. Dabir and I had been away so often that I did not know him nearly so well as his predecessor, Tarif.

  “Patience, Captain,” the governor said wearily. “Dabir, I, too, was skeptical when my chronicler found the map, but it seems authentic. It dates back to the century before Muhammad, may peace be upon him. It is a scroll fragment, and one side speaks of a leader, a Felahr, who led his people to a life-prolonging fountain erected by the ancient peoples of Hattusa. Two things are clear: the scroll’s writer thought the place real, and the path is difficult.”

  “Look at him, Governor.” The captain jabbed a hand at Dabir. “He hesitates.”

  “You should strive to be more polite,” I suggested sternly. Sarsour frowned at me.

  A look from the governor closed the captain’s lips. “You must excuse the captain,” he told Dabir. “He has been commendably eager to aid Lina, but we have waited for your return. You and Asim have experience with such things.”

  “We have lost two days waiting for you,” Sarsour continued. “The girl grows weaker every hour!”

  Dabir and I had only just returned from an expedition we had undertaken for a huntress, one I have detailed elsewhere. We were road-weary and looking forward to the comforts of home.

  “I want you to go after these waters,” the governor said. “I do not order—I ask, as a friend. I want you to safeguard my daughter on the journey, and to help the captain overcome the challenges along the way.”

  “Lina?” Dabir spoke her name in disbelief. I shared his skepticism. If seeking these waters was foolish, taking the dying girl was mad.

  “The travel will only weaken her,” Dabir said.

  “The journey will last almost a week,” the governor told us, his voice so soft I had to strain to hear him. “And of course a week to return. That may be too long for Lina to wait. My hakim will give Lina potions to aid her, but they may drain her days. Haste is paramount.”

  The governor’s grief made him crazed, and surely Dabir saw this. Yet who, looking into those pleading eyes, remembering the kindnesses he had shown us, remembering the laughter of Lina in the halls and courtyards as she chased puppies or balls or begged for stories, could have answered in any way other than we did?

  “Make the preparations,” Dabir said. “We’ll leave on the hour.”

  The governor brightened. “Thank you, my friends. May God go with you.”

  “Governor,” Dabir said, “you realize that the waters aren’t likely to be there. In which case—”

  The mask fell away from the governor’s eyes, and I saw the weariness and sorrow writ upon his soul. “I know.”

  II

  Clouds blanketed the sun as we rode the next few days, and it grew cold as we advanced into the mountains. Wind whipped down the heights, and though it was but early autumn we knew the chill of winter. The trail steepened and we passed sheer drops of hundreds of feet. Then, in late afternoon of the third day, we reached a plateau several leagues across. High grass waved about our horses’ hooves, a sea of yellow broken only by occasional islands of scrub, pine, or boulders. My spirits had brightened, for we had passed two landmarks shown upon the map, a great mottled rock shaped like a goat skull, and a small oval lake shimmering like a mirror. Tranquil as the next leg of the journey looked to be, a strange foreboding filled me. I saw nothing as I searched the distance, but I felt certain we were watched from behind the boulders. Lions, perhaps, or bandits.

  Yet the hours passed, and nothing ventured close but birds. All was well after evening prayers. Even the weather was kinder, for the cold breeze lessened beneath a gray blanket of clouds. For all that he harbored some strange ill will toward Dabir and me, Sarsour seemed to know his business, and I found no flaw with the way he set up the camp or his sentinels. As with the preceding nights, I lay awake for a while, listening to the sounds of the insects and howls of distant wolves.

  A scream woke me to nightmare. My hand found my sword as I rolled from my bedding. The watch soldier stared open-mouthed at a monster looming out of the starless night, the thing that even now doubly impaled poor old Ari on gigantic mandibles. The dying fire sketched a horse-high beast with a lobster’s segmented carapace and two waving antennae. A sickly number of legs skittered beneath its shell, and its mouth, inside the circle of its great mandibles, dripped foam as it opened and closed spasmodically.

  It smelled of the grave, but the sight of it alone was enough to tak
e a man’s breath.

  Dabir roused even as I yelled to God to give me strength. Sarsour shouted for his soldiers to take up arms, but I paused only to draw my sword and slap a stunned soldier on the back. “To battle!”

  He picked up his courage and followed.

  The hakim’s body shook this way and that as the monster insect turned to us. The mandibles opened and he dropped like a grain sack.

  Many were the monster’s legs, and they were swifter than I supposed. Its mandibles clacked like dancer’s bracelets. I was close enough now to see the black eyes set in the horror of a face. I cried out and cut. It was a mighty stroke, and sheared the beast’s mandible in half. So great was my blow that I lost balance and followed the direction of my swing. It was a beginner’s error not to have better planted my feet, and I attribute it to my fatigue and the uneveness of the ground; moreover, that Allah had not written my death for that moment, for there came a hissing noise from behind me and then a man’s scream that did not cease. I rolled to my feet to see the face and tunic of the soldier covered in smoking black ichor. He threw down his sword and reached for the pitted ruin of his face, then wailed all the more as he yanked his hands away.

  The remaining mandible slashed through his neck and he fell silent.

  Two of the soldiers plied their arrows against the thing, but that was folly, for the arrows stood out from the carapace but did little harm. Sarsour cursed his men. “Lances, you fools!” He picked up one and tossed it to one soldier, then charged forward with a lance of his own. He did not lack courage.

  I readied to follow, but Dabir called to me. “Asim!”

  I looked past the bulk of the monster and saw Dabir holding something aloft. His oil flask. “Get fire!”

  He dashed past Lina, who crouched in her blankets, her eyes like white pearls, and strode determinedly for the monster.

  I leapt to obey, though I did not like it. The caliph had charged me with protecting Dabir, yet what was I to do when Dabir sent me one way while marching to death the other?

 

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