“I’ve sailed with the god of death. You don’t frighten me anymore. You’re petty fools, almost out of time. Rakhebt Wadak is waiting. He might even take you tonight.”
The pair stared at Jebel, disturbed. Then they laughed. “Absurd!” Bush hooted.
“Ludicrous!” scoffed Blair.
“The boy’s insane,” Bush declared.
“Or trying to spook us,” Blair grunted.
Jebel smiled darkly. He had a plan. If it worked, he would be rid of the evil graverobbers a lot sooner than they could possibly have expected.
“Where have you stored your stash?” he asked.
“Most of it’s here,” said Bush, waving at the sacks around them.
“Not this rubbish,” Jebel said. “I meant…”
He stopped as if he’d caught himself saying too much. It was a clumsy piece of acting, but the avaricious Bush and Blair bought it.
“What were you going to say?” Bush asked.
“Nothing,” Jebel protested.
“Finish what you started!” Blair barked, and drew a knife. “We saw by your scars that the Um Biyara had been crueler masters than we ever were, but don’t think we can’t match them if pushed.”
“Come on, young Rum,” Bush cooed. “Tell us your secret.”
Jebel licked his lips as if scared of the phony Masters. “I thought you would have found it by now.”
“Found what?” hissed Bush.
“Haven’t you been up to the land at the top of the cliffs?” Jebel asked.
“A few times,” said Blair. “We feasted on a sheep and plan to take a few with us when we leave, but…” His eyes narrowed. “You’re saying there’s something up there that we missed?”
“You didn’t explore the large cliff to the south?” Jebel asked.
The pair shook their heads mutely.
“That’s…” Jebel stopped again.
“Out with it,” Blair growled, tapping the blade of his knife with his fingernails.
“The um Hamata kept their treasure in a cave,” Jebel lied.
“What treasure?” Bush snarled suspiciously.
“They ambushed boats. They set up nets to trap them, then lobbed boulders onto them from the cliff. The wreckage washed up in the nets. They drew them in, sent the bodies and debris downstream, and kept the swagah and gems.”
“Where?” Bush and Blair shouted, eyes alight, not suspicious anymore—they found it all too easy to believe in shipwreckers as merciless and mercenary as themselves.
“There’s a cave in the cliff above,” said Jebel softly, lowering his gaze. “They didn’t dare keep their haul here in case traders spotted it.”
“You saw the treasure?” Bush asked. “This isn’t just a tale that you heard?”
“I saw it,” Jebel said. “They tried to buy their way out of the massacre when the Um Biyara attacked. Qasr Bint cut them down regardless. But afterwards we went up there to check. Qasr Bint said it was a cave of vice, that they must leave it as it stood and never tell anyone about it. I think he was planning to return and claim the treasure for himself when they were through converting.”
Bush and Blair were trembling. “How much is there?” Bush croaked.
“I only had a quick look,” Jebel said. “The cave was at least five times the size of this one. Most of the floor was covered, and sacks were stacked three or four deep in places.”
Bush squealed like a child, then covered his mouth with both hands.
Blair frowned at his partner, then fixed his gaze on Jebel. “If you’re lying…” he said threateningly.
“Why should I?” Jebel replied sullenly.
“A treasure trove,” Bush sighed, so happy he was almost in tears. “All our lives have been devoted to this moment, Master Blair. I always said it would come. If we kept plugging away and searching, if we never lost faith…”
“We can retire,” said Blair wonderingly. “Build a mansion, stock it with the finest wine, food, and women, have children, grow old in comfort and safety…”
“We’ll cut you in for a share too, Master Rum,” Bush vowed, with a wink that for once wasn’t mocking or hurtful. “No more graveyard duties for you! You’ll praise the day your path crossed ours.”
“I don’t want any of it,” Jebel said. “It’s the treasure of the dead.”
Bush and Blair laughed. “Too soft for your own good,” Blair snorted.
“But your loss is our gain,” Bush crowed, then flapped his hands at Jebel. “Pull on some clothes and lead the way, boy. Onwards and upwards to glory!”
Their enthusiasm unsettled Jebel. As they joked and laughed in the tunnels, he was reminded of their first meeting, when he’d thought them an amusing pair of travelers. In this mode they seemed harmless, making wild plans for all the things that they would do with their swagah, the parties they’d throw, the women they’d buy, even the good causes they’d support.
“Men of means must be charitable,” Bush insisted.
“As long as we’re not too charitable,” grumbled Blair.
“I’d say there’s not much danger of that,” Bush laughed.
Jebel almost told them the truth, to spare them. But then he recalled the awful nights in the graveyards, their disregard for the dead, the casual way they had killed, their enslavement of him. As the memories flooded back, his resolve hardened. He put forgiveness and mercy behind him and focused on the dirty job at hand.
When they reached the grassland, Bush and Blair set off ahead of Jebel, jogging eagerly, eyes fixed on the base of the cliff, oblivious to the shadows moving slowly and mysteriously across its rocky face.
Jebel trailed behind the graverobbers, keeping his eyes low in case one of them looked back, saw him gazing at the shadows, and realized something was amiss. He wondered if they’d be collected by Rakhebt Wadak or if they believed in some other god of death. Who collected the spirits of those who didn’t believe in any gods at all, or those who thought that they would be reincarnated?
They slowed as they neared the cliff and looked at Jebel expectantly. “Well?” Bush asked. “Where is it?”
“Give me a moment,” Jebel frowned. “I know the entrance was close to here, but I can’t recall the exact place…”
He took a few steps back. As he retreated, his gaze flickered upwards. He saw that the shadows had converged and were sweeping towards the spot where Bush and Blair were waiting impatiently.
“Perhaps a hot iron applied to the soles of your feet would help,” Blair snapped.
“Hold on,” Jebel shushed him. “It’s close. Just give me a few seconds….” He glanced left and right, pretending to search for the entrance to the fictitious cave. Bush and Blair’s eyes were fixed on the young Um Aineh. They weren’t aware of anything behind them.
The shadow reached the base of the cliff. Jebel took one more step back and abandoned his pretend search. “It’s wrong to steal from the dead,” he said softly.
“Never mind that!” Bush barked.
“The treasure!” commanded Blair.
“There isn’t any,” Jebel said, and pointed behind them. “Unless there’s treasure to be found in the lands of the dead.”
Bush and Blair sensed the danger too late. If they had dived for safety, they might have escaped, but instead they spun around to see what Jebel was pointing at. For a second they gaped at the massive shadow. Then the rock pulsed and snatched them from where they stood.
The pair screamed—their cries muted by the encompassing rock—and thrashed to break free. Bush managed to turn away from the cliff and reached out to Jebel, his face filled with terror, pleading for help. Jebel instinctively raised a hand to grasp Bush and pull him free. But then the rock snapped back into place and hardened, trapping the pair of villainous Masters within its folds.
There was a thin, ghostly cry. “No-o-o-o-o…”
Then silence.
The shadow swirled around its victims for a minute, then split into nine parts and drifted away, leaving the
fossilized dead behind.
Jebel studied the rocky remains. Blair’s back was to the boy, barely sticking out of the cliff, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. But Bush was facing him, eyes and mouth wide, hands reaching out to beg for help over the hundreds and thousands of years to follow, until the snow and winds eroded his image.
Jebel stared somberly at Bush’s terrified expression and his extended hands, noting the curl of his fingers, the way his palms tilted upwards. If anyone passed by here in later years, they might think that this was a sculpture carved out of the rock and wonder if it was the representation of some beloved martyr or holy man.
Jebel turned his back on the cliff and the doomed Masters Bush and Blair and trudged down to the caves, where he ate a quiet meal. Then he wrapped up warmly and sat in the gloom, eyes distant, feeling very alone, replaying the death of Bush and Blair over and over in his mind, taking not even a grain of satisfaction from the grisly memories.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jebel ate, brooded, and slept. There was no way of telling day from night in the caves, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t interested. A great weariness had settled upon the boy. He didn’t think about the future, what would happen to him if he ever left this place, where he might go if he did. He was alone with his thoughts, and most of those were horrible.
He tried to find comfort in the happier past, recalling Debbat Alg, his family, Bastina and her mother, life in Wadi when he was innocent and free. But none of that seemed real to him now. It was hard to believe it had ever happened. A world without pain, loss, betrayal, hate, death, loneliness? Impossible!
Most of the candles in the cave had burned down. Jebel had been replacing the dead candles from a stash in one of the walls, but he had made up his mind not to fetch any more when the current batch flickered out. When the last was quenched, he would live as a shadow in a world without light.
Jebel might have remained in the caves until the end of his days, a silent, lost hermit, except fate hadn’t finished with him. One day, after a dark, timeless age, he heard somebody coming. The person was moving quietly, but Jebel’s ears were attuned to silence, and he could have heard a spider scuttling.
Jebel positioned himself in a pitch-black tunnel and watched as a man with a candle entered the cave. Jebel knew the man, but he didn’t want to call out. If he did, he would be dragged back into the real world. It was safer to squat here in the darkness, let the man leave, and hide in the abandoned caves forever.
The man explored the cave, then climbed into one of the tunnels that led to the surface. Jebel wanted to let him go but was afraid the man might wander too close to the cliff, drawn by the spectacle of Bush and Blair. So he reluctantly broke his silence and spoke up.
“Tel Hesani.”
The Um Kheshabah whirled around. When the boy stepped forward, Tel Hesani’s face twitched with fear. “Jebel?” he croaked. “Are you a ghost?”
“No,” Jebel said, squinting as he moved into the light.
Tel Hesani stared at Jebel with disbelief, then broke into an incredulous grin. “Jebel Rum!” he roared, rushing forward and embracing the boy. “I thought you were dead. I’ve been searching the banks for your body.” He let go and took a step back, gazing at Jebel with wonder. “How did you survive?”
“I hitched a ride,” Jebel said softly.
Tel Hesani frowned. “With whom?”
“Death.”
Tel Hesani didn’t know how to respond to that. While he was searching for words, Jebel pointed at the ceiling. “Bush and Blair are up top.”
The Um Kheshabah’s lips curled. “Those fiends! I had a feeling we weren’t finished with them. Lead me to the monsters, and I’ll—”
“They’re dead,” said Jebel. “I tricked them and sacrificed them to the rock spirits. They’re trapped in the cliff now. They can’t ever leave.”
Tel Hesani blinked and shook his head. “Wonder heaped upon wonder.” He studied Jebel and saw the emptiness in the boy’s eyes, his stooped shoulders and distant expression. “You’ve been here alone all this time?”
“How long has it been?” Jebel replied without much interest.
“Nearly three weeks,” said Tel Hesani, sitting and gently tugging Jebel down beside him. “I fled after you fell into the as-Sudat. I found shelter, slept as best I could, then headed downriver to search for your body but also to come here. I knew I would be safe if I found my way back to Hamata. I could hole up for the rest of the winter, then sail back to Wadi in the spring and try to save the lives of my family.”
“It mustn’t have been easy, surviving out there,” Jebel remarked.
“It wasn’t,” Tel Hesani said softly. He was thinner than ever. He had aged fifteen years and didn’t carry himself as straight as he once did. He could have told Jebel of his recent trials, digging through the snow to find frozen berries, fighting off wolves to feast on the corpse of a deer, sleeping inside its carcass for warmth, fleeing from a bear. But he didn’t want to burden Jebel, as he felt the boy had suffered enough himself. “When do you want to leave?” he said instead.
The question took Jebel by surprise. “Leave?” he echoed.
“For Tubaygat. There’s still time. It will take a couple of months, but we might make it if luck is with us.”
“You want to go to Tubaygat?” Jebel asked stupidly. He had given up on the quest and barely thought of it recently. On the few occasions that he had, it struck him as the foolish fancy of a child who had known nothing of the world. “Why?”
“Why?” Tel Hesani exploded. “To save my wife and children, of course!”
“But it’s too late. I’m weary. It was a crazy quest. Forget about them. We’ll stay here and—”
Tel Hesani slapped Jebel sharply. Jebel gaped at him, slack-jawed. Tel Hesani slapped him again. He was raising his hand a third time, when Jebel’s face filled with fury and he pushed himself away.
“What are you doing?” he screamed. “You can’t slap me! You’re a slave! I’ll have you whipped and executed for this!”
“That’s more like it,” Tel Hesani chuckled. “I knew I’d find the old Jebel Rum somewhere within that shell.”
Jebel rubbed his cheek, staring wide-eyed at Tel Hesani. “You slapped me.”
“I had to.” He gripped Jebel’s hands. “We’ve both suffered more than anyone ever should, but we can’t let it break us. We have to go on. I must save my family, and you need to restore your honor.”
“I don’t care about that anymore,” Jebel said. “It seems foolish now. What does honor matter in this world of villains and pain?”
“You won’t think that way when you’re back in Wadi, an executioner, respected by everyone, loved by your father, wed to a beautiful maid.”
Jebel shook his head. “I don’t know. I was… I wouldn’t say happy exactly… but content. I…”
He stopped, realizing he sounded just like Bush and Blair. He trembled, remembering their gruesome end, then wondered if their spirits were taking him over.
“All right,” Jebel said in a rush, sweating at the thought that the ghosts of the dead Masters might appear. “Let’s go to Tubaygat and finish what we started. I don’t care anymore, but we’ll do it if you want. I’m ready.”
“Easy,” Tel Hesani said as Jebel jumped to his feet. “The way north is long and hard. We need to stock up on clothes, blankets, food. We don’t have to rush. A few hours won’t make much difference one way or another.”
Jebel hesitated. “An hour,” he decided. “Pack what you can. Then we’re out of here. At least I am. You can follow whenever you like.”
“An hour,” Tel Hesani agreed, then smiled encouragingly. “I’ll never leave you again. You have my oath. I’ll be with you every step of the way to Tubaygat. After that…” He shrugged. “You won’t need me then, will you?”
“No,” Jebel said, shifting uncomfortably. “I suppose I won’t.”
Then he sat in the darkness, staring at nothing, while Tel Hesan
i scoured the cave and those beyond in search of materials to aid them in their final push north.
It was a long, tiring, but uncomplicated trek. Winter passed as they marched, and spring came to Abu Saga, longer days, lessening storms, floods as ice and snow melted and fed the rivers and streams. The world turned green around them. New creatures and birds filled the plains and mountains. Boats passed frequently on the as-Sudat, ferrying goods to or from the mines. This was the busiest time of year for the river traders. They carted mounds of iron and minerals south, while others shipped supplies to the isolated miners, who would be close to starving after the trials of winter.
Jebel and Tel Hesani crossed the river and followed it north along its eastern bank. They were careful not to reveal themselves to anyone, either on the boats or in the villages they passed. When they needed food, they raided sheds in the dead of night, but most of the time they were able to pluck wild berries or hunt goats.
Tel Hesani told Jebel all that had happened to him since they’d been parted, and Jebel recounted his trip downriver with Rakhebt Wadak. Tel Hesani thought the boy must have dreamt it, but Jebel knew it was no dream. He had seen the god of death and struck a bargain with him. Nothing Tel Hesani said could shake his belief in that.
They made good time until they hit the al-Meata, where the path rose. The snows melted there only at the height of summer—and in some of the higher parts, not even then. They cut directly north, following the route of the as-Sudat where they could but having to detour away from it much of the time.
The ground was treacherous. Jebel had assumed that the division of the al-Tawla and al-Meata was purely political, that they were part of the same mountain range. Now he saw that wasn’t so. While they were only separated by the barrier of the as-Sudat, they were entirely different formations. Where the rocks of the al-Tawla were firm, these were brittle and unpredictable. The ground was only an inch thick in some parts, giving way to murderous chasms and pits. It was a simple matter to plummet to your death, so Jebel and Tel Hesani had to pick their way through, moving even slower than they had in the swamps of Abu Nekhele. Sometimes they had to circle for hours before finding a path they could trust.