by Farah Zaman
THE SIGN
OF THE SCORPION
The Moon of Masarrah Series, Book Two
FARAH ZAMAN
Copyright © 2019 Farah Zaman
First Edition
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Niyah Press books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use.
ISBN: 978-1-945873-14-0
The Moon of Masarrah Series, Book Two
The Moon of Masarrah Series, Book One, is available wherever books are sold.
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For information, please email the author at [email protected]
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Cover Design by Anis Puteri
First and Foremost,
My praise and gratitude to the One
Who taught me by the Pen.
To my family
who is always my safe harbor in the storms of life.
And for all
who assisted in reading and sharing their thoughts,
my sincere thanks and appreciation.
I couldn’t have embarked on this odyssey without you.
Prologue
Night shrouded the oasis in gathering veils of darkness, chasing away the lingering twilight and lulling its dwellers into slumber. As midnight approached, a playful wind blew in from the far reaches of the desert, gleefully skittering sand in its path and tickling the date palms with mischievous fingers. Except for the moths fluttering at the lanterns and the beating of bats’ wings, all was silent as the lone woman blended with the shadows and walked on soundless feet towards the darkness beyond.
She glanced at the skies above. Stars glimmered like scattered jewels and a lazy moon snoozed behind a thick blanket of clouds. Tonight, the beauty of the night was lost upon her. Her thoughts were on the stolen bracelet and the web of intrigue she now found herself in. As she approached her destination, she saw a warm glow at the top of the dark edifice. The one who had summoned her was waiting. Hastening her strides, she reached the door and opened it.
Entering, she shined a flashlight onto a long flight of stairs. It was narrow and steep, twisting upwards in a spiral. As she stared at the daunting length, the woman was tempted to turn back and return to her bed. But she had come this far and must continue on. Her distressing dilemma had to be dealt with once and for all. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the railing and began to climb, her slippers echoing on the ancient stone stairs.
When she reached the top, the summoner stepped out of the shadows, silhouetted in the glare of a candle beyond. “You’re here at last. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”
“I almost turned back,” said the woman. “I hated dragging myself out of bed in the middle of the night. Why all this secrecy? Is it really necessary?”
“I wanted to be away from prying eyes and ears. Come, let’s sit down and talk.”
The woman entered the room and was gripped with a strange sense of foreboding. The writhing shadows seemed thick with menace and she felt an eerie sensation of danger, like someone waited to pounce on her in the dark. Her eyes searched the gloom, looking for she knew not what. Except for herself and the one who had summoned her, the room was empty. She shivered and drew her shawl closer as a cool draft blew in from the open window. Silently chiding herself for her foolish imaginings, she pulled a chair and sat down.
Looking her summoner in the eye, she said, “There’s nothing more to talk about. You know my ultimatum. Either return the bracelet tomorrow or I’ll tell the family you stole it.”
“Of course, I’ll return it. I wanted to make sure you haven’t told anyone about it.”
“I told you I wouldn’t. Your secret is safe as long as you return it.”
“I want you to swear you told no one I took it.”
“I swear by Allah I haven’t told a single soul it was you.”
“Now swear you’ve told no one you were meeting me here tonight.”
“I swear by Allah no one knows I’m here.”
“Then I have nothing to fear,” murmured the summoner.
“You’ll return the bracelet tomorrow?”
“Yes, you won’t have to worry about that ever again.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” The woman stood up. “I’ll return now. It’s been a tiring day.”
“Wait, there’s something I want to show you before you go.”
“What is it?”
“It’s in the bag by the window. Let me get it.”
The summoner went across to the window, glanced out and stood still. “Someone’s coming down the path. They must have seen the light.”
“Who can it be?” said the woman.
“I don’t know. Come, see if you can tell who it is.”
The summoner moved aside, and the woman took a few hesitant steps towards the window. Before she reached it, she came to a stop. She was filled with that nameless fear again. She stared at the wide opening, reluctant to go any closer to the gaping void. Was someone really down there? She tilted her head, her ears straining for a sound. She could only hear the erratic beating of her heart. All of a sudden, she felt like fleeing as fast as her feet would allow.
As she stood poised for flight, the hairs on her nape rose. She gave a strangled cry as a pair of cruel arms grabbed her from behind. She knew her life was in peril as she was dragged towards the window. Her desperate cries filled the air as she struggled for her freedom. She kicked and butted her head against her captor, digging her nails into the hands that held her like a vise. Even though she fought with desperation, she was no match for her aggressor. They had reached the window.
“Please,” she sobbed. “Please let me go. I won’t say anything about the bracelet.”
“It’s too late,” came the cold voice of her summoner. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”
The next moment, she was lifted over the window sill. She felt herself dangling over empty air. She gave a shrill scream of panic, her fingers clutching for a handhold and her feet thrashing in a frenzy beneath her. The arms released their hold. A long shriek of terror left her throat as she hurtled to the ground below with dizzying speed. Before blessed oblivion overtook her, she realized with fleeting clarity that she had been deceived and was on her way to meet death.
Chapter One:
Desert Castle
Layla Horani peered out the window of the seesawing jetliner, eager to catch her first glimpse of the Republic of Ghassan. The swaying aircraft banked sharply to the right and the clouds parted to reveal a curving mass of land verged by turquoise waters.
“I see land.” Layla turned her shining green eyes to her friend Zahra Alkurdi, who sat next to her. “We’re here at last.”
“We sure are,” said Zahra, with an unmistakable British accent, a wide smile on her face.
She and Layla were both fourteen. Layla was tall and slender while Zahra was shorter with dark eyes and chubby cheeks.
Behind them, Layla’s brother Adam, said, “That water looks wonderful.”
“Yes, good enough to swim in,” said Zaid with the same British accent as his sister Zahra.
The boys were a year older than the girls. Adam had a square face and hair that had a tendency to look tousled. Zaid’s face was longer, and he wore his dark hair cut close to his head.
The teenag
ers had met due to the friendship between their fathers. The two men, hailing from Midan, had become friends while at college in the United States. Zaid and Zahra’s father had gone on to pursue a doctorate in history in England. Layla and Adam’s father had remained in the United States to study medicine. The two men had gotten married around the same time and settled down in their adopted countries. Three years prior, Professor Alkurdi returned to Midan to become head of the history department at Crescent City University.
Layla smiled as she remembered their first meeting with Zaid and Zahra. It had been at her grandfather’s home in Midan last year. Layla and Adam had been visiting there for the first time and their father had invited Zaid and Zahra to keep them company. During their vacation at Bayan House, the teenagers had become fast friends while chasing after pirates and searching for the long-lost Moon of Masarrah diamond. Though fluent in Arabic, they reverted to their first language of English when they were together.
As Layla straightened her beige scarf and dusted crumbs off her olive-green tunic, a tingle of anticipation shot through her. It had been almost a year since Shaykh Sulaiman ibn Al-Khalili had invited them to visit Dukhan Oasis, his desert home in Ghassan. She and Adam had set off from San Francisco four days ago, making a detour in Midan to visit their grandfather. Earlier that Tuesday afternoon, they had met up with Zaid and Zahra to catch the one-hour flight to Ghassan. Now, only minutes away from landing, Layla could hardly sit still.
They were met at the Ghassan International Airport by Mustapha, the Shaykh’s employee. They had become acquainted with him last year when he had accompanied the Shaykh to Bayan House. He was a strapping man with the face of a Sumo wrestler and the build of a boxer. He was dressed in jeans and a tightfitting T-shirt that bared the rippling muscles of his brown arms. He escorted them to a burgundy Honda Pilot and soon, they were speeding along on a busy highway.
“The oasis is in Rukan Province,” he told them. “It’s four hours away. We should get there about nine this evening, insha Allah.”
“It’s too bad there wasn’t an earlier flight from Midan,” said Zaid. “We would have reached the oasis sooner.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Adam. “I think it’s better traveling in the afternoon.”
“This is the first time you’re all visiting Ghassan?” asked Mustapha.
“No, Zaid and I have been to Ghassan City a couple of times before,” said Zahra.
“That’s where I live,” said Mustapha. “It’s very beautiful.”
“I’d love to see Ghassan City,” said Adam. “Maybe when our parents come, we can all go together.”
“How are the twins, Hassan and Hakeem?” asked Mustapha.
“They were disappointed they couldn’t come with us,” said Layla. She felt a pang of regret when she thought of her younger brothers. “But they would have driven us crazy. It’s for the best.”
Mustapha laughed. “From what I saw of them last year, they looked like a handful.”
“They’ll be coming with our parents the last week of our vacation,” said Adam, “so they’ll get to see the oasis.”
“Our parents will be coming at the same time too,” said Zahra. “They’ll be flying straight from Malaysia.” Professor and Mrs. Alkurdi did a lecture tour in a different country every year. This year was no exception.
“Are you looking forward to your vacation at the oasis?” asked Mustapha.
“Oh yes,” said Adam. “We’ll enjoy being so close to nature.”
“Does the Shaykh have a house there?” asked Zaid.
Mustapha chuckled. “I guess you could say that. He never told you?”
“No, we never thought to ask,” said Layla.
“Then I won’t spoil the surprise,” said the chauffeur.
“Dukhan Oasis,” Layla murmured. “The Oasis of Smoke. It’s such a dreamy name.”
“You’ll have your fill of it for six weeks,” said Mustapha. “By then, you’ll be glad to get back to the concrete jungle.”
He went on to tell them about the relatives he would be spending the night with in Khaldun, the nearest city to Dukhan Oasis.
Two hours later, they left the crowded highway. They were now journeying across landscape that alternated between sandy plains, desolate gray hills, and unexpected patches of greenery. Layla leaned back and closed her eyes. She wondered for the umpteenth time what the oasis would be like. Her daydream conjured up a fertile tract of land abundant with date palms, herds of camels and flowing water springs. As they came closer to their destination, the sun sank to the west amidst a vivid carpet of vermilion clouds. The orange and red hues reminded Layla of an artist’s palette.
“Almost there,” Mustapha murmured as darkness began to etch itself on the landscape around them.
The teenagers stared out at the roadway. At the sides, were limestone hills that cast long shadows ahead. As they turned a curve, a most unexpected sight met their eyes. A sprawling castle stood before them like a medieval stronghold, its lines thrown into sharp relief by the luminous full moon.
“Welcome to Dukhan Castle,” said Mustapha.
In her wildest imagination Layla would have never guessed they were coming to a remote desert castle. “Wow, this is unreal,” she said, blown away by the fact that they would be staying at an honest to goodness castle.
“Awesome,” said Zahra.
“Cool,” said Adam.
“Wicked,” said Zaid.
Mustapha chuckled. “The castle does take people by surprise. The Shaykh prefers living here than anywhere else. He’s very reclusive. I guess it’s his Bedouin roots.”
The Honda stopped before steel gates and Mustapha reached a thick arm out the window to punch in a code on the security panel. The gates swung open and they drove into a forecourt lined with date palms. To the left was a parking lot filled with several vehicles. They came to a stop next to a sporty red Saab. The ultra-modern conveyance seemed out of place in a setting like this.
They stepped out of the vehicle and Layla stared in fascination at the castle’s facade. The monumental square structure towered several stories into the air and stretched across the horizon. At each end rose a rounded tower. A porch-like covering with arch-shaped columns ran along the entire front. She knew it was called a portico. She had seen them on many buildings.
As she stared up at the dark windows, Layla saw a faint movement on the third floor. A woman wearing allover white was looking down at them, her eyes like sooty smudges above her veil. She stood still for several seconds before disappearing with a quick movement. Layla blinked. If she had believed in ghosts, the woman in white would have certainly passed for one.
“Don’t worry about your luggage,” said Mustapha. “The servants will take them up to your rooms.”
At the front door, Mustapha rang the bell. Moments later it opened, and a plump manservant clad in a black uniform peered out at them. He was in his early sixties, with iron-gray hair and overhanging brows.
After salaams were exchanged, Mustapha said, “This is Dhul Fikar, the butler. He’ll take care of you from here.”
Dhul Fikar opened the door wide. “Welcome. Please come inside.”
“I’ll say goodbye for now,” said Mustapha to the teenagers. “As I told you, my relatives in Khaldun are expecting me. I’ll spend the night there and return to Ghassan City. Enjoy your vacation and I’ll see you soon, insha Allah.”
The teenagers thanked him warmly before following the butler through a wide entryway. It opened into a cavernous domed hall with a magnificent chandelier hanging from the center and gold and silver brocade curtains at the windows. Several low couches with ottomans were laid in a circle around a Turkish rug. A coffee table stood in the middle, bearing a crystal vase filled with flowers. The fresh blooms scented the air with a delicate perfume.
Dhul Fikar gestured to the couches. “Please hav
e a seat. I’ll inform the family of your arrival.”
After the butler left, Layla said, “Isn’t this place amazing? It looks like a castle out of a fairy tale.”
Zahra grinned. “Let’s hope there’s no wicked witch or wizard here.”
Minutes later, a woman entered the domed hall. She was in her mid-forties, dressed in a brown gown and cream scarf. Bright, inquisitive eyes were set above a rather pointed nose. She reminded Layla of an eager bird.
She said in a slightly guttural voice, “I’m Ghazala, Shaykh Sulaiman’s cousin. Welcome to Dukhan Castle. It’s a pleasure to meet you all. My cousin has spoken very well of you. I’m afraid he’s unable to welcome you here himself. But you’ll meet him tomorrow. Now, tell me your names.”
As the teenagers introduced themselves, a woman clad in all-black hijab hurried into the domed hall.
“Ah, here’s Nura,” said Ghazala. “She’s going to be your maid during your stay here.”
We’re getting our own maid?
Nura was in her early twenties, with a small cherubic face and large dark eyes. She seemed very serious for such a young woman.
“Nura will take you to the dining room,” said Ghazala. “We’ve prepared a late dinner for you. I hope you enjoy it. I’ll be waiting for you here when you’re done.”
“Please follow me,” said Nura, beckoning to them with a tiny hand.
She led them to a dining room with a long mahogany table. Layla counted sixteen chairs around it. Suspended above the table was an antique crystal chandelier. Layla’s stomach growled when she smelled the delicious flavors wafting out from the chafing dishes.
“You can wash up in the bathroom across the hallway,” the maid said, her voice soft and low. “When you’re ready to eat, just lift the covers and help yourselves. I’ll be back when you’re done.”
After their tiring journey, the warm lamb stew, grilled beef kofta and a delicious dessert of kanafeh were eaten with enthusiasm. At the end of the meal, the maid led them back to the domed hall. Ghazala was thumbing through a magazine. “Sit down,” she said to them. “I’m afraid the time has now come for me to be the bearer of some bad tidings.” She looked at them with grave eyes.
