Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) Read online

  Outside the mines, fervor had reached its peak. Baal’s team members were in the lead with the slave on their heels. They were fast approaching the exit. The sun had gone past midday and the artists, despite their excellent performances, drew distracted applause from the audience. The crowd was worried; many had bet on Baal. A few fools chose the slave with odds of fifty-to-one. Habael was smiling. Some paced nervously, while others sat by the entrance, which doubled as the exit, for the trajectory in the mine was a loop starting and ending at the same entryway.

  Ahiram stopped to catch his breath. He had to admit that the team of Baal was fast. Unnaturally so. He looked up and saw the shortcut. It bypassed the honeycomb labyrinth by moving in a near-straight line, rejoining the main passage one hundred yards from the exit. Its entrance was a narrow hole hidden from view, forty feet above ground, and to reach it, Ahiram had to climb along a flat wall with grooves so tiny that he could grip them with only the tips of his fingers. Few could climb this wall, which is why the arbitrators were unaware of the passage’s existence. Ahiram reached the top and went through the hole gritting his teeth as the rough edge scratched his shoulder. He stood on a narrow ledge and jumped over a five-foot gap into a corridor wide enough for only one man. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he bounded forward. Catching up with the team of Baal was what mattered now.

  There was a sizable crowd waiting eagerly by the exit, kept back by a row of arbitrators keeping the excessively curious from entering the mine. Suddenly, the crowd became agitated, as an arbitrator, still panting, burst out of the mines. He had news. The arbitrators guarding the exit commanded the crowd to move back. Slowly, a comfortable space opened up. The crowd looked at the arbitrator, who stood bent down, hands on his knees, waiting for his breathing to calm down. He stood up, tried to speak, but could not. He waited a little longer. Finally, he stood erect and spoke in a loud voice:

  “The team of Baal is in the lead. They are twenty minutes away from the exit and…” He took another deep breath. The crowd tensed, “The team of Quibanxe is in second position, an hour behind.”

  The crowd relaxed, cheered, and recovered its festive mood. Men and women boasted to whoever would listen that all along they knew that Hiyam and her team would win the Games. Some shook their heads at their own credulity that led them to imagine that the slave could have been a serious threat to the well trained Junior High Riders. Master Habael, who was listening to a fat and sweaty woman ranting through a similar monologue, did not smile. He was starting to worry. Could the lad have failed this simple test?

  Inside the mines, Hiyam and her team relaxed their pace. Early on, they had taken the lead and no one challenged them. This first Game would be an easy win for them. They felt a cool draft flowing toward them, an indication that they were nearing the exit. Shortly after, one of them pointed to a small source of light ahead. It was indeed, the exit. They all cheered. Their strongest man had all eleven pairs of miniature, bronze shoes strung around his neck, and they surrounded him on all sides, forming a strong barrier against any would-be attacker. They went under a natural bridge, talking excitedly about the prospect of winning the Games, when three small, white clouds billowed from the ground at their feet. They were caught in a fit of sneezing and coughing. A dark shape leaped from the bridge, lithe as a snake, and a dagger whizzed by, slicing the laces of the bronze shoes. Ahiram snatched one pair and threw the rest at his opponents. Before they understood what had happened, he thrust his way through them and ran toward the exit. He heard Hiyam yell an order, but only two men were able to run after him, being less affected by the coughing powder. Ahiram ran faster. He had to outrun them, which was no easy feat given that these men were among the fastest runners in the land, and his lacerated shoulder was throbbing. He thought about Hoda and felt a surge of renewed energy. He ran like he had never run before and dashed out of the mines with the two men on his heels. All three of them stopped amid the crowd, who cheered at first, and then fell dead quiet. The two men of the team of Baal moved toward Ahiram, but the trumpets sounded. “Make way, make way for the judges!” The tension eased a little. The four judges reached the circle and looked at Ahiram.

  “Well, young man, do you have a pair of bronze shoes?” asked Master Garu, eyeing him the way a frog would a fly.

  Ahiram handed the pair to the judge. Each of the four judges inspected the seal on the shoes and nodded his approval.

  “Indeed, this pair is genuine,” decided Garu. “Well then, young man, you have won the first Game. Arbitrators, sound the trumpet and declare that…” The judge hesitated for a second, “what is your name, young man?”

  “Ahiram, sir.”

  “Ahiram has won the first Game. Now, I suppose, I should report all of this back to Her Majesty the Queen, who is greatly interested in the Games. Meanwhile, gentlemen, you should take time to deliberate, for this incident creates a unique set of circumstances requiring utmost attention to the subtleties in the rules of the Games. I will rejoin you as soon as I can. Come now, gentlemen, this young man has us occupied tonight.”

  The judges left. The crowd looked at Ahiram with hatred. Suddenly, a scream came from the exit. Hiyam emerged and walked resolutely toward Ahiram. Her eyes were red.

  “You swine! Filthy slave! Who do you think you are? Do you not know who I am?”

  Ahiram felt like saying, “a loser”, but he bit his tongue. He looked down. She slapped him so hard his ear rang. He glared up at her, and seeing the dark fury in his eyes, she stepped back. “I will get you.” she shouted as she left the plaza with the rest of her team.

  The crowd stood around him, sullen and silent. Still, it did not feel as hostile as it did this morning. Perhaps, the fact that he took the slap tacitly brought about a subtle change in the crowd’s attitude toward him. Resolutely, he forged a path through the crowd by staring at those in his way, and one by one, they moved aside. The last man he faced was smiling. Ahiram relaxed and smiled back.

  “I knew my boy would come through,” said Master Habael, embracing him. “Come, let’s walk back together. I knew you would do it, lad. I am very proud of you, just as your father would have been.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Sure. You bested the best, and tonight you sit at the King’s table.”

  Ahiram froze.

  “At the King’s table? Impossible—I am a slave.”

  “And the winner of the first Game.” Habael laughed. “You have created a headache for the judges. Should they seat you at the royal table or not? Should they raise your banner or not?”

  “My banner?”

  “Well, yes. Since you are a slave, your banner must be below every other banner, but since you are the winner, it must be above all others. What to do, what to do? They must be anguishing over it.”

  “I am sorry for them, I—”

  “Do not even think about it. Do you think they are upset? They are delighted. Those four judges would love nothing more than to debate the rules. At last they can argue, and for good reason. They love it. I only hope we will get to eat at a reasonable hour tonight.”

  Ahiram laughed, Habael patted him on the shoulder, which turned his laughter into a moan of pain. Habael looked at Ahiram’s shoulder, his expert hand going over the wound. “A minor laceration, I will take care of it when we get to the kitchen. You have to look presentable tonight.” Ahiram followed, thinking that if this was a minor laceration, what would it take for Habael to call it a serious one? “You have had good training with the Silent Corps, but you should learn to stomach pain a little better,” said Habael, as though he was reading his mind. “Before the end of the Games, you will be injured far more than you will care to remember. Let us hope that they will be only minor injuries like this one. Now hurry. Otherwise, I will not be able to take care of your shoulder properly.”

  “Yes, yes, I know he is a slave,” cut Garu. “You said it over and over again, so there is no need to repeat it. The fact remains that he has won the first Game. The stipu
lations are clear: he must be seated at the royal table.”

  Hylâz, Ramany, and Ibromaliöm had been debating for a couple of hours now, with no end in sight. Garu was briefing the Queen.

  “Wait, I think I have it,” said Hylâz. “As a slave, he is allowed to stand by the table to serve, so let us decree that he will stand at the table, while everyone else sits. He shall eat standing.”

  “But if he is standing in their midst, and they are all sitting,” asked Ramany pensively, “does it not give him, how shall we say, a semblance of authority?”

  “Well then,” continued Hylâz, “let them all stand, and Ahiram may be seated.”

  “The King, the Queen, and their retinue standing around a table while a slave sits in their midst? You must be out of your mind.” snapped Ibromaliöm angrily.

  “Fine, let them all stand a couple of feet away from the table. Alternatively, they can sit on the table and put their food on their chairs, or let him sit while chewing one bite and stand while chewing another. Perhaps he could sit on half of a chair? Better yet, he could sit on the rung of a ladder, or a rope, or he can…”

  “Hylâz, will you please stop this nonsense?” pleaded Ibromaliöm. “This is not a game; the King will have us hanged before we suggest something so outlandish that not even his jester would dare say it.”

  Garu joined them at this point, and they briefed him about their dilemma. He seemed distracted and indifferent, which surprised them.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said Ramany, “let us collect ourselves and observe the facts. These facts are incontrovertible. On the one hand, a slave may not sit at the kingly table. On the other, the winner must sit at the royal table. To do the first is inconceivable, and to not do the second, impossible. Yet, here we are, and I must proclaim my ignorance. I say, let the King decide.”

  They all looked at each other. It was late, the supper had been delayed to allow them to reach a conclusion, and they were getting hungry. They shouted unanimously: “Let His Majesty decide.” As they moved toward the door, Ibromaliöm said, “What about the banner?” The three others looked at him. His tall, skinny figure, with the large protruding nose, brought to mind images of a scarecrow.

  “The banner? What about it?” asked Garu, exasperated.

  “Well…”

  “Oh, you are correct, my dear friend, the banner.” He sighed. “What to do with the banner?”

  Ibromaliöm continued with his raspy voice. “I have given the matter some thought, and I have formulated a rather unusual but workable solution. Whereas, we cannot split the slave in two, we can duplicate his banner so that one will float above the others to indicate a winner, while the second will indicate a slave by hanging below.”

  Garu smiled approvingly.

  “I say, this is a rather happy compromise given the circumstances. Are we all agreed?” Hylâz and Ramany nodded. “Very well then, let us announce our resolution to His Majesty.” Garu sighed deeply, and Hylâz wondered if Garu was sick. Hylâz was interrupted in his train of thought by Ramany’s booming voice.

  “What about the second banner?”

  “What about it?” replied Garu, who was getting exasperated by these interruptions.

  “Well, where are we going to get a second banner like his? It is rather unique, would you not agree?”

  “We will have someone make one like it tonight. I am most positively convinced that we will find able hands within these walls to create a banner like the slave’s, regardless of its complexity. Would you not say so, my friend?”

  “I wanted us to consider the matter thoroughly, that is all.”

  “And it has been,” said Garu. “In my opinion, we have moved rather serendipitously from serious cogitation to confabulation. This could have been amusing under different circumstances. However, the King is waiting.” With this, he opened the door and left.

  The King was not happy. He and his guests had to wait two hours for the judges to supply a solution, and instead, they handed him a problem. Yet, there he was in the midst of this great company, having to decide one way or the other. If he asked Ahiram to eat somewhere else, his detractors would say he was siding with Baal. A band of fanatics out there might riot. If the King allowed the slave to share a meal at the royal table, Baal might take umbrage and depose him. He glanced at Bahiya, and in a flash, found a brilliant way out of this quandary.

  “My friends and most honored guests. I thank the gods for the wisdom and enlightenment of our highly esteemed judges. It is with men like these that this kingdom shines forth throughout the world. They have asked me to rule in this important matter. In the spirit of Tannin’s hospitality, I should like to bestow a special and privileged honor upon our beloved High Priestess Bahiya. I should like to hear her advice in this matter, for she is reputed for her prudent and forthright judgment.”

  The King looked at Bahiya and saluted her with a slight bow. The high priestess smiled and bowed before the King. The old bore, he is nothing but trouble, she thought. She had to decide now. She looked at Ahiram, who was leaning against a colonnade, seemingly disinterested by all this, and smiled a mischievous smile.

  “Your Majesty,” she bowed before the King, and again before the Queen, “The Temple of Baal has bestowed peace and security upon the whole world. Baal is known throughout the land for his generosity to those who show strength of body and mind. In the spirit of this great god, I would suggest to the great and wise King Jamiir III to let the young man be seated by my side.” Bahiya ignored the horrified gasps and continued. “If it is dishonorable for him to be present at the kingly table, let a second table be set by His Majesty’s, where the slave and I shall be seated there together. It shall not be said of the sun god Baal that he is lacking in generosity, even toward the lowliest of slaves.”

  Tanios, who was standing behind Ahiram and enjoying the diplomatic joust, smiled. She has not changed one bit, thought the commander of the Silent Corps. She has always known how to turn every situation to her advantage, even if it tears out someone’s heart.

  Ahiram was rather worried, for he had no desire whatsoever to be seated with the high priestess. He would have been perfectly happy to eat on the balcony by himself.

  The King eyed the priestess with a surly smile. “Let a plate be added to the royal table, and let the slave be seated next to the high priestess.”

  Queen Ramel hid her rage behind a benign smile: although the King did not fulfill Bahiya’s every wish, he nonetheless acquiesced to her demand by allowing the slave to sit in their presence. She was repulsed by her husband’s servile attitude toward Bahiya, for he seemed intent on satisfying all her whims. Had it been up to her, she would have sent the slave to the kitchen to eat with the servants. Unbeknownst to her, Prince Olothe shared her rage. He wanted to tear the slave apart, but kept a calm countenance and a well-disposed facade. Hiyam looked placidly at the dragon etchings on her plate. Her mother’s request confused her. What are you up to, Mother? she wondered. Still, the King had spoken. They took their places at the royal table. Tanios gave Ahiram a gentle, but firm push. All eyes were on him, and for once, he was glad he could keep his eyes down. He got to his chair and waited until all the guests were seated before taking his place. Ahiram sat on the edge of his seat and kept his eyes focused on his plate, waiting to be served. Most conversations were hushed. Bahiya was amused by the stiff reaction of the nobility.

  “What are we eating tonight?” asked Master Habael jovially. He was seated at the table of the Silent, along with the commander. Both were greatly enjoying the situation.

  “I believe it is shark tonight,” replied Tanios in the same tone. “I love shark steak, Master Habael. What about you?”

  “Me? Oh, I would not want to go a day without it.”

  Suddenly, someone screamed, as if in sheer agony. Plates and cutlery crashed to the floor and goblets tumbled. Tanios sprung to his feet and ran to the royal table. Ahiram was up, standing behind his seat while Bahiya lay on the floor, unconscious
.

  “You swine!” screamed Prince Olothe. “I am going to kill you!”

  “Prince Olothe, contain yourself,” snapped the Queen. “The slave is innocent. The high priestess simply looked at him, screamed, then fell.”

  Prince Olothe muzzled his mouth with great pain. He was not about to create a diplomatic incident by contradicting the Queen.

  “Mother is back to herself,” said Hiyam, helping Bahiya to stand.

  The high priestess rubbed her forehead, and sighed deeply. “May His Majesty the King live forever,” she said with a quivering voice. “I should ask His Majesty permission to take leave for the night. It has been a rather long day, and the worries of the temple construction are exhausting. I am fatigued, but will be fine tomorrow, I assure His Majesty. May we all forget this incident.”

  She bowed before the King and walked out of the room, followed by Tanios’ gaze. This is abnormal, he thought. She is up to something.

  Ahiram was still standing with eyes cast down, when he heard the familiar footsteps of Master Habael.

  “May the King live and prosper.” said the old man.