Beneath Ceaseless Skies #15 Read online

  He had to find them, and fast. Praise God, he had a name now. A crude tracking spell, then. He would have a splitting headache the next day from the casting, but it was his only choice. Standing on the still-quiet dock, Adoulla dug charcoal and a square of paper from his satchel. After writing the Name of God on the front of the paper and “Zoud” on the back, he pulled forth a platinum needle, pricked his thumb, and squeezed one drop of blood onto Zoud’s name. He rolled the square into a tube and placed it in his pocket. The mental tug he felt meant God had deemed Adoulla’s quarry cruel enough to lead His servant to the man. He followed it eastward, the half-sunk sun at his back.

  He cursed himself five times as he crossed Archer’s Yard. Adoulla had shown mercy, and the girl had betrayed him. The dervish had been right. Adoulla was a soft old man who called for tea when he should be calling for the blood of his enemies. The Yard’s hay training targets stood abandoned now, a few arrows still sticking out of them. To Adoulla’s mind the arrows seemed accusatory fingers pointing at him—a fuzzy-headed fool whose weak heart had killed a boy of six-and-ten.

  No. Not if he could help it. He had brought the boy into this mess. Now, if Raseed still lived, Adoulla would get him out of it.

  * * *

  Raseed awoke blindfolded, gagged, and bound. During his training he’d learned to snap any bonds that held him, no matter how well tied. But something was wrong here. He was bound not with rope or chain, but with some fiendish substance that burned hotter the harder he tried to escape.

  His struggles caused him a slicing pain in his wrists and ankles, but for an uncontrolled moment he thrashed like a madman.

  Calm yourself! He was disgusted at how easily he lost a dervish’s dignity. He went into a breathing exercise, timing his inhalations and exhalations. The first thing was to figure out where he was. They had blindfolded him, which meant that the knot-blower’s blinding curse was not permanent. Praise God for that. Adapting quickly, Raseed let his other senses take over. He heard the cries of rivergulls and a splashing sound against one wall. He smelled water and felt himself swaying. A boat. Zoud’s. The one we saw leaving. Raseed was captive on a boat, and bleeding.

  He wondered where the Doctor was. I should not have listened to him. He is old and grown soft. Raseed could have ended the girl’s life and ought to have done so. Now it was too late. Impermissible panic began to rise in him.

  Inhale…exhale. He would not feel fear. He would find a way out.

  Suddenly Raseed heard a sobbing sound. A young woman crying as she spoke. “I’m sorry, holy man. So sorry. The whisking spell could have killed you.”

  Ushra. Perhaps a yard away from him. From the same direction he heard glass clink and smelled something acidic.

  “What can I do?” the girl continued, her voice moving about. “I’m damned. I didn’t want to be his wife, master dervish. He…he took me and he made me need him. But the things he did to the other wives…” The girl wept wordlessly for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Please don’t scream,” she whispered, pulling down Raseed’s gag.

  Talk to her!

  Raseed felt that God was with him, for the words came quickly. “You can correct your wickedness, Ushra. You can make amends for your foulness. ‘In the eyes of God our kindnesses weigh twice our cruelties.’”

  She untied his blindfold, and Raseed blinked at the dim lantern-light. Ushra crouched before him, a long glass vial in the crook of her arm. The look on the girl’s face gave him hope. ‘Our kindnesses weigh twice our cruelties.’ The scripture echoed in Raseed’s head.

  “Zoud’s gone now, master dervish, but he’ll return soon. He left me to guard you.” She took a breath and closed her eyes. “I know I can’t fix everything. But I freed the girl, his new wife. That will weigh well with God, won’t it?”

  Raseed would not presume to speak for Him. He said simply, “God is All-Merciful.”

  The girl opened her teary eyes and spoke more swiftly. “He bound you with firevine. It can’t be untied. I’ve poisoned it, but it’ll take an hour to die. God willing, it’ll die before he returns.” More weeping. “I am foul, holy man. My soul is dirty. But, God forgive me, I want to live. I have to go. You don’t know the things he can do, master dervish. I have to go.”

  Ushra went.

  But she’s freed Hafi’s wife! Raseed praised God as he lay there captive, bleeding, alone.

  * * *

  The red riverboat had docked near the High Bridge of Boats. Adoulla found the hatch open and thanked God. He made his way into the cabins without being discovered, which meant that this Zoud was either blessedly overconfident or waiting for him. For a moment Adoulla half-hoped that he’d find Raseed and the magus’s “wives” before Zoud found him.

  But then, as he came to the threshold of a cabin that seemed impossibly spacious, he heard whistling. It was “The Druggist, the Draper, and the Man Who Made Paper,” Miri’s least-favorite song. Not a good omen.

  The room was impossibly spacious, Adoulla realized. A magically-enlarged cabin, grown to the size of a tavern’s greeting-room. In a far corner the dervish lay bound on the floor. Firevine! Dried blood ringed Raseed’s wrists and ankles.

  Between Adoulla and the boy stood Zoud.

  The magus was gaunt and bald with a pointed beard. Raseed’s sheathed sword lay at Zoud’s feet, and beside the magus stood an oaf whose size made his purpose obvious—bodyguard. There was no way Adoulla could reach the dervish before those two did.

  Zoud, disturbingly unsurprised at Adoulla’s entrance, stopped whistling and gestured toward Raseed. “He is in great pain.”

  Adoulla frowned. “Why stage this gruesome show for me?”

  Zoud smiled. “Simple. I’m no fool—I know your sort. I don’t want you as an enemy. Hounding me across the Crescent Moon Kingdoms on some revenge-quest. No. All I ask is your oath before God that you’ll leave me in peace. I’d hoped to take the boy with me—the Order has enemies who’d pay well for a live dervish. But if you’ll be reasonable you may walk off this ship, and we’ll put the boy off as well. That’s fair, isn’t it? You’ve taken much from me already. My new wife. Even my first wife.”

  Ushra’s not here? And Hafi’s wife is free? How? Adoulla could find out later. What mattered now was that his options had just increased. In the corner behind the magus and his henchman, Adoulla saw a small flicker of blue movement. Impossible!

  He smothered a smile and silently thanked God.

  “So,” Zoud said. “Do I have your oath, Doctor?”

  Adoulla cleared his throat. “My Oath? In the Name of God I swear that you, with your tacky big-room spells, are but a half-dinar magus with a broken face coming to him!”

  Everything happened at once.

  He heard a snapping noise and the boy was free. It was impossible to snap firevine. But Adoulla adapted quickly to impossibilities. As Raseed leapt to his feet Zoud darted behind his bodyguard and screamed “Babouk! Kill!” The magus clapped twice.

  Oh no.

  The flash of red light dazzled Adoulla for a moment. But his eyes knew and adjusted to the glamour-glimmer of a dispelled illusion well enough. Adoulla had to give this fool Zoud his due. The big bodyguard was gone. In his place was an eight-foot-tall cyklop.

  This is not good.

  A blue streak darted at the one-eyed, crimson-scaled creature. Raseed! The dimwitted monster grunted as the dervish barreled into it and knocked the mighty thing off its clawed feet.

  Adoulla stood there for a stunned half-moment. Half the monster’s size, yet he topples it! Dervish and furnace-chested cyklop wrestled on the ground until the monster wrapped its massive arms around the boy. Adoulla took a step toward the pair and shouted “Its eye! One sword-stroke through its eye!”

  Then he whirled at the familiar sound of blade leaving sheath. Zoud stood before him with a hunted look on his face and a silver-hilted knife in his hand. All out of tricks, huh? And now you think to buy your freedom with a knife? Adoulla cracked his knuckles and too
k a step toward the magus.

  * * *

  Raseed wriggled free of the cyklop’s crushing hug. The monster pressed him again, closing its clawed hands around Raseed’s fists. His wounds from the firevine burned, but he pushed the pain away.

  As part of his training, Raseed had once wrestled a northern bear. This creature was stronger. Still, Raseed thought, as impermissible pride crept in, he would slay it. Then he’d know that he had fought a cyklop and won. He twisted his powerful arms, trying to get the leverage to free himself. But the cyklop held him fast. And the pain in Raseed’s wrists and ankles grew worse.

  Then he heard a small sound and his left hand blazed with pain. His little finger was broken. Another sound. His index finger. The rest would follow if he did not get free. But how?

  The cyklop decided for him. Shifting, it hoisted Raseed aloft like a doll. The monster tried to dash Raseed’s brains out on the floorboards.

  Raseed twisted as he fell, somersaulting across the room. His sword hand was unharmed. He thanked God and forced away the pain of his wounds. He scooped up the blue scabbard, rolled to his feet, drew.

  The cyklop grunted. It blinked its teacup-sized eye as Raseed rushed forward. With eagle-speed Raseed leapt, sword extended. He thrust upward.

  With an earsplitting howl, the cyklop fell, blood seeping from its single eye. Watching the monster die, Raseed felt more relief than pride.

  * * *

  Adoulla charged Zoud, making sure that his robed shoulder was his opponent’s most prominent target. A sneer flashed on Zoud’s face. The fool thought Adoulla was blundering into his dagger-path.

  The silver-handled blade came down.

  And glanced off the blessed kaftan, as surely as if Adoulla were wearing mail. Zoud got in one more useless stab before Adoulla let loose the right hook that had once made him the best street fighter on Dead Donkey Lane. With a girlish cry, the magus crumpled into a heap. Somewhere behind Adoulla, the cyklop howled its death-howl.

  His tricks gone and his nose broken, Zoud lay bleeding at Adoulla’s feet. The magus whimpered to himself like a child yanked from a good dream. Before Adoulla knew what was happening, Raseed was at his side.

  “Magus!” the dervish said. “You have stolen and slain women. You dared demand an oath before God to cover your foulness. For you, there can be no forgiveness!” Raseed sent his blade diving for Zoud’s heart. In a breathspace, the forked sword found it. The magus’s eyes went wide as he gurgled and died.

  Adoulla felt ill.

  “What is wrong with you, boy? We had the man at our -” He fell silent, seeing the boy’s firevine wounds.

  Raseed narrowed his tilted eyes. “With apologies, Doctor, I expected Adoulla Makhslood to be a man who struck swiftly and righteously.”

  “And instead you’ve found some pastry-stuffed old fart who isn’t fond of killing. Poor child! God must weep at your cruel fate.”

  “Doctor! To take God’s name in mock is imper—”

  “Enough, boy! Do you hear me? Fight monsters for forty years as I have—cross the seas and sands of the Crescent Moon Kingdoms serving God—then you can tell me what is ‘impermissible.’ By then, Almighty God willing, I’ll be dead and gone, my ears untroubled by the peeps of holy men’s mouths!” The tirade silenced the dervish, who stood looking down at the magus’s bleeding corpse.

  The problem was, Adoulla feared that the boy’s way might be right. Adoulla thought of the girl, Ushra. And of Raseed’s pain as the firevine had tortured him. And of Zoud’s dead “wives.” He sighed.

  “Oh, God damn it all. Fine, boy. You’re right. Just as you were about the blower-on-knots.” Adoulla sat down with a grunt, right there on the bloody floorboards. He had fought a dozen battles more difficult than this over the decades, but he did not think he’d ever felt so weary.

  Raseed spoke slowly. “No, Doctor. You were right. About Ushra, at least. She did what she did from weakness and fear of a wicked man. Yet I would’ve killed her.” The dervish was quiet for a long moment. “It was her, Doctor. Ushra. She poisoned the firevine. She freed Hafi’s wife. I’m ashamed to say it, but I must speak true—I wouldn’t have escaped if not for her.”

  Adoulla was too tired to respond with words. He grunted again and clambered to his feet.

  * * *

  Yehyeh’s teahouse buzzed with chattering customers. Raseed tried to ignore the lewd music and banter. Hafi and his tall, raven-haired wife sat with her grateful parents on a pile of cushions in the far corner. At a table near the entrance, Raseed sat with the Doctor, who was nursing what he had called a “God damned gruesome tracking spell headache”. Lifting his head from his hands slowly, the Doctor fixed a droopy eye on Raseed.

  “How many men have you killed, boy?”

  Raseed was confused—why did that matter now? “Two. No…the highwaymen…five? After this villain last night, six.”

  “So many?” the Doctor said.

  Raseed did not know what to say, so he said nothing.

  Adoulla sighed. “You’re a fine warrior, Raseed bas Raseed. If you’re to study with me, though, you must know your number and never forget it. You took a man’s life yesterday. Weigh that fact! Make it harder than it is for you now. Remember that a man, even a foul man, is not a ghul.”

  Again, Raseed was confused. “‘Harder,’ Doctor? I’ve trained all my life to kill swiftly.”

  “And now you will train to kill reluctantly. If you still wish an apprenticeship.”

  “I do still wish it, Doctor! High Shaykh Aalli spoke of you as -”

  “People speak of me, boy, but now you’ve met me. You’ve fought beside me. I eat messily. I ogle girls one-third my age. And I don’t like killing. If you’re going to hunt monsters with me, you must see things as they are.”

  Raseed, his broken fingers still stinging, his wrists and ankles still raw, nodded and recalled the High Shaykh’s words about where virtue lives. Strange places indeed.

  * * *

  A quiet settled over the table and Adoulla devoured another of the almond-and-anise rolls that Yehyeh had been gratefully plying him with. As he ate he thought about the boy sitting across from him.

  He did not relish the thought of a preachy little dervish in his home. He could only hope the boy was young enough to stretch beyond the smallness that had been beaten into him at the Lodge. Regardless, only a fool would refuse having a decades-younger warrior beside him as he went about his last years of ghul hunting.

  Besides, the dervish, with his meticulous grooming, would make a great house-keeper!

  He could hear Miri’s jokes about boy-love already.

  Miri. God help me.

  Raseed lifted his bowl of plain limewater and sipped daintily. Adoulla said nothing to break the silence, but he slurped his sweet cardamom tea. Then he set his teabowl down, belched loudly, and relished the horrified grimace of his virtuous new apprentice.

  Copyright © 2009 Saladin Ahmed

  Comment on this Story in the BCS Forums

  Saladin Ahmed was born in Detroit and lives in Brooklyn. His poetry has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. “Where Virtue Lives” is his first fantasy fiction publication. Another story set in the Crescent Moon Kingdoms is forthcoming in Orson Scott Card’s InterGalactic Medicine Show, and an unrelated fantasy story will appear in the anthology Clockwork Phoenix 2. You can find out more by visiting his website at www.saladinahmed.com.

  http://beneath-ceaseless-skies.com/

  COVER ART

  “Endless Skies,” by Rick Sardinha

  Rick Sardinha is a professional illustrator/fine artist living and working on the outskirts of Providence, Rhode Island. His passion is to create in traditional oil media, however, he is just as comfortable in front of a computer and often uses multiple disciplines in the image creation process. More of his work can be seen at http://www.battleduck.com.

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  Table of Contents

  “More Than Once Upon a Time,” by S.C. Butler

  “Where Virtue Lives,” by Saladin Ahmed