Off at a distance, separate and apart from the men, Zohra and Mathew watched and waited—the heart of one wondering at Khardan, the heart of the other knowing and pitying, yet trusting.
Suddenly out of the air appeared the three djinn, Fedj, Raja, and Sond. Bowing low before Khardan, they hailed him in the name of Hazrat Akhran, who sent his blessings to his people.
“About time, too,” said Zeid loudly.
“Are these what we’ve been waiting for?” questioned Majiid of his son, waving his hand at the djinn. “Well, they’ve come back. Let’s attack before we all faint from the heat!”
“Yes,” muttered Jaafar gloomily. “Let’s get this over with, take the city, steal what we want, and go back home.”
“You”—thundered Majiid, pointing at Jaafar—”have no vision! We will take the city, steal what we want, and burn it to the ground. Then we can go home.”
“Bah!” snorted Zeid. “What is this talk of taking a city? Here we sit, slowly putting down roots into this Godcursed rock! If the Prophet will not lead us, I will!”
“Ah, but who will follow?” questioned Majiid, whirling around angrily to face his other old enemy.
“We will see! Attack!” yelled Zeid. Reaching out, he yanked his bairaq from the hands of his standard bearer and waved it high in the air. “I, Sheykh of the Aran, say ‘attack’!”
“Attack! Attack!” The Aran echoed their Sheykh. Unfortunately their eyes were not on the city but on the Akar.
“I, too, say ‘attack.’ “ Sayah leaned across his father’s horse and sneered into Khardan’s face. “But it seems our Prophet is a coward!”
“Coward!” Khardan turned on the young man in a rage. Wait! Consider! said an inner voice. Consider what you will be giving up. . .
The Prophet—pausing—considered. He looked up into the blueandgolden sky. “Thank you, Hazrat Akhran!” he said softly, reverently.
“Attack!” shouted Khardan, and doubling up his fist, the Prophet of the Wandering God turned in his saddle and aimed right at Sayah’s jaw.
Sayah ducked. Jaafar didn’t. The blow sent Khardan’s fatherinlaw tumbling head over heels backward off his horse.
“Have you gone mad?” A shrill voice rang over the crowd. Zohra galloped into their midst, her horse rearing and plunging. “What of Kich? What of becoming Emperor? And what do you mean by striking my fath—”
“Get out of my way, sister!” cried Sayah.
“Oh, shut up!” Twisting in her saddle, Zohra took a vicious swing at her brother that, if it had hit, would have left his ears ringing for the next year. It missed. The momentum of her swing carried the Prophetess of Akhran out of her saddle to land heavily upon her father, just as the groggy, groaning Jaafar was struggling to his feet.
“Dog!” Sayah launched himself at Khardan and the two, grappling together, went for each other’s throats.
Majiid, shrieking in fury, slashed wildly with his sword at Sayah, only to hit Zeid. The sword slit open a wide gash in the sash wrapped around Sheykh’s round belly.
“That was my best silk sash! It cost me ten silver tumans!” Zeid foamed at the mouth. Clasping his standard in both hands like a club, he swung it in a wide are, unseated two of his own men, and clouted Majiid soundly in the ribs.
“You know, Raja, my friend,” said Fedj, giving the gigantic djinn a rude shove that sent him flying through the skies, clear across the border into Ravenchai, “I have always thought your body to be too big for your smallspirited soul.”
“And I, Fedj, my brother, have always found your ugly nose to be an insult to immortals everywhere!” snarled Raja. Bursting back on the scene, his hands grasped hold of that particular portion of Fedj’s anatomy and began twisting it painfully.
“And I”—shouted Sond, leaping suddenly and unexpectedly upon the complacent Usti—”say that you are a doughfaced lump of sheep droppings!”
“I couldn’t agree with you more!’ Usti gasped and disappeared with a bang.
The hills around Kich erupted in confusion. Akar leaped at Hrana. Hrana smote the Aran. The Aran battled the Akar. Remnants of all three nomadic tribes banded together to turn upon the outraged refugees of Bas.
Making his dangerous way through the flailing fists and slashing sabers, maddened horses and screaming camels, Mathew ducked and dodged and pushed and shoved, seeking always the flutter of blue silk that robed the Prophetess of Akhran. He found her at last, pummeling with the buttend of a broken spear a hapless Akar who had knocked out, for the second time, a befuddled Jaafar.
Zohra had just laid her victim low and was looking around, panting, for her next, when Mathew appeared before her, catching hold of her arm as she took a swipe at him.
“What do you want of me? Let me go!” Zohra demanded furiously, trying her best to break free.
Mathew held onto her grimly and determinedly, however, and Zohra, struggling but too battleweary to free herself, had no choice but to follow him, cursing and swearing at him with every step.
Hanging onto Zohra with one hand, Mathew forged their way through the melee until he reached a blackrobed figure, who was hacking away with a sword at another blackrobed figure, neither making the least progress, both seeming prepared to spend the day and possibly the night in combat.
“Excuse me, Sayah,” said Mathew politely, shoving between the two heavybreathing, exhausted men. “I require a word with the Prophet.”
Seeing—through a bleary haze—the Marabout and recalling that this man was not only crazy but a powerful sorcerer as well, Sayah waved a hand toward Khardan, bowed in respect for his opponent and, gasping for breath, staggered off in search of another fight.
“Come with me,” said Mathew firmly, taking hold of Khardan’s arm. He led the suddenly docile Prophet and the suddenly calm Prophetess back down the ridge, as far from the fighting as possible. Here, in the quiet of the vineyard where the people had hidden only weeks before with no expectation except that of death, Mathew turned to face the two people he loved.
Neither was much to look at. Zohra’s veil had been torn loose—probably by her own hand—and cast to the winds. Her black hair, shining like a raven’s wing, was tangled and disheveled and streamed across her face. Her best silken chador had been torn to shreds, her face was smeared with blood and dirt.
Khardan’s wound had reopened, a patch of crimson stained his robes. Numerous other slash marks covering his arms and chest indicated that he had not found Sayah the easy match he had once scornfully considered the herder of sheep. His cheek was bruised and one eye was swelling shut, but he kept his other—dark and watchful—upon his wife.
Zohra, in turn, cast fiery glances at him from behind the veil of hair. Mathew could almost see the acid accusations rising to Zohra’s lips, he could see Khardan preparing himself to catch the venomous drops and hurl them back at her.
“I have a gift for you two,” said Mathew smoothly, as calmly as if he were meeting them on their wedding day.
Reaching into the folds of his black wizard’s robes, Mathew drew forth something that he kept hidden in his hand. “What is it?” asked Zohra with a sullen air.
Mathew opened his palm.
“A dead flower,” said Khardan scornfully, yet with a hint of disappointment. Imperceptively, perhaps by accident since he was literally swaying with fatigue, he took a step nearer his wife.
“A dead flower,” echoed Zohra. Her voice was tinged with sadness, and surely by accident as well—she took a step nearer her husband.
“No, not dead,” said Mathew smiling. “Look, it lives.”
Khardan, Calif of the Akar, and Zohra, Princess of the Hrana, both leaned forward to stare at the flower lying in the wizard’s palm. Inadvertently, undoubtedly by accident, the hands of husband and wife touched.
The crumpled petals of the flower grew smooth and shining, its ugly brown color deepened and darkened to a majestic purple, the center bud unfolded, revealing a heart of deepest red.
“The Rose of the Prophet!
” breathed Khardan in awe.
“I found it growing on the Tel the morning we rode forth to battle,” said Mathew softly. “I plucked it and I brought it with me, and now”—he drew a deep breath, his eyes going from one loved face to the other—”I give it to you and I give you two to each other.”
Mathew held out the Rose.
Husband and wife reached for it at the same time, fumbled, and dropped it. Neither moved to pick it up, each had eyes only for the other.
Khardan clasped his arms around his wife. “I couldn’t live within walls!”
“Nor I!” cried Zohra, flinging her arms around her husband.
“A tent is better, wife,” said Khardan, inhaling deeply the fragrance of jasmine. “A tent breathes with the wind.”
“No, husband,” answered Zohra, “the yurt such as my people build is a much more comfortable dwelling and a much more suitable place in which to raise children—”
“I say—a tent, wife!”
“And I say, husband—”
The argument ended—momentarily—when their lips met. Clinging to each other fiercely, they turned their backs on the glorious brawl that raged unchecked on the hillside. Arms around each other—still arguing—they walked farther into the vineyard until they were hidden from view by the sheltering leaves of the grapevines, whose entwining stems seemed to offer to teach, by example, the ways of love. The quarreling voices softened to murmuring sighs and, at length, could be heard no more.
Mathew watched the two go, an ache in his heart that was both joy and a sweet sorrow. Leaning down, he picked up the Rose of the Prophet that had fallen, unheeded, to the ground.
As he touched it, he felt a tear fall warm and soft upon his hand and he knew, though how or why he could not tell, that it fell from the eyes of an angel.
Glossary
agal: the cord used to bind the headcloth in place
aksakal: white beard, village elder
Amir: king
Andak: Stop! Halt!
ariq: canal
arwat: an inn
aseur: after sunset
baigha: a wild game played on horseback in which the “ball” is the carcass of a sheep
bairaq: a tribal flag or banner
Bali: Yes!
Bashi: boss
bassourab: the hooped camel-tent in which women trave
batir: thief, particularly horse or cattle thief (One scholar suggests that this could be a corruption of the Turkish word “bahadur” which means “hero.”)
berkouks: pellets of sweetened rice
Bilhana: Wishing you joy!
Bilshifa: Wishing you health!
burnouse: A cloaklike garment with a hood attached
Calif: prince
caftan: a long gown with sleeves, usually made of silk
chador: women’s robes
chirak: lamp
couscous: a lamb stuffed with almonds and raisins and roasted whole
delhan: a monster who eats the flesh of shipwrecked sailors
dhough: ship
divan: the council-chamber of a head of state
djinn: beings who dwell in the middle world between humans and the Gods
djinniyeh: female djinn
djemel: baggage camel
dohar: midafternoon
dutar: two-stringed guitar
Effendi: title of quality
‘efreet: a powerful spirit
Emshi besselema: a farewell salutation
eucha: suppertime
eulam: post meridian
fantasia: an exhibition of horsemanship and weapons skills
fatta: a dish of eggs and carrots
fedjeur: before sunrise
feisha: an amulet or charm
ghaddar: a monster who lures men and tortures them to death
ghul: a monster that feeds on human flesh. Ghuls may take any human form, but they can always be
distinguished by their tracks, which are the cloven hooves of an ass
girba: a waterskin; four usually carried on each camel of a caravan
goum: a light horseman
haik: the combined head cloth and face mask worn in the desert
harem: “the forbidden,” the wives and concubines of a man or the dwelling places allotted to them
hauz: artificial pond
Hazrat: holy
henna: a thorn-shrub and the reddish stain made from it
houri: a beautiful and seductive woman
Imam: priest
jihad: holy war
kafir: unbeliever
Kasbah: a fortress or castle
kavir: salt desert
khurjin: saddlebags
kohl: a preparation of soot used by women to darken their eyes
madrasah: a holy place of learning
Makhol: Right! (exclamation)
mamaluks: originally white slaves; warriors
marabout: a holy man
mehara: a highly bred racing camel
mehari: a plural of mehara
mehariste: a rider of a mehara
mogreb: nightfall
nesnas: a legendary, fearsome monster that takes the form of a man divided in half vertically, with half a face, one arm, one leg, and so on
palanquin: a curtained litter on poles, carried by hand
pantalons: loose, billowing pants worn by men
paranja: a woman’s loose dress
pasha: title of rank
qarakurt: “black worm,” a large species of deadly spider
quaita: a reed instrument
qumiz: fermented mare’s milk
rabat-bashi: innkeeper
saksul: a tree that grows in the desert
salaam: an obeisance, a low bow with the hand on the forehead
salaam aleikum!: Greeting to you
saluka: a swift hunting dog
satsol: a desert-growing tree
seraglio: the quarters of the women of the harem
Sheykh: the chief of a tribe or clan
shir: lion
shishlick: strips of meat grilled on a skewer
sidi: lord, sir
sirocco: the south wind, a windstorm from the south
souk: marketplace, bazaar
spahi: native cavalryman
Sultan: king
Sultana: wife of a Sultan, queen
surnai: a traditional folk reed instrument, generally conical and made of wood
tamarisk: a graceful evergreen shrub or small tree with feathery branches and minute scalelike leaves
tambour: similar to a tambourine
tel: a hill
tuman: money
wadi: river or stream
wazir: an adviser to royalty
yurt: semipermanent tent
Table of Contents
The Book of Quar
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
The Book of Zhakrin
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
The Book of the Immortals
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
The Book of Promenthas
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The Book of Akhran
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
The Book of Sul
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Glossary
The Prophet of Akhran Page 36
