Rashed Rum stared at the skinny boy in the doorway. J’An and J’Al gaped. They couldn’t believe that this was Jebel. They had given him up for dead many months ago. For a moment the executioner thought the boy had wandered into the wrong house. But then he saw traces of his dead wife in the youth’s eyes.
“Jebel!” he roared, with more excitement than Jebel had anticipated. Leaping to his feet, Rashed Rum raced across the room, caught his youngest son in a bear hug, and whirled him around. Jebel laughed, then hugged his father and wept. J’Al and J’An raced forward, delighted to see their long-lost brother.
“Where have you been?” J’Al roared, clapping Jebel on the back.
“Why did you leave without telling us?” J’An shouted. “We were worried sick! You…” He stopped and squinted. “Are you crying?”
Jebel broke free of his father’s embrace and laughed through his tears. “Sorry,” he half-sobbed, half-chuckled. “I didn’t expect such a welcome. I thought… I don’t know. But not this.”
“You are my son,” Rashed grunted. “You’re always welcome, even…” He had been about to say “even if you disgraced yourself and tarnished the family name,” but he hesitated and instead said “no matter what.”
There was a long silence, all four unsure of what to say next. Jebel broke it by asking if there was any news.
“Any news?” J’Al exclaimed. “You’ve been away for a year—of course there’s news! But where to begin? Have you heard about—”
“Peace,” Rashed said. His gaze was on Jebel, and though he still looked at his son warmly, there was concern in his expression. “We should hear from Jebel first.” He led the boy to the table, and they all sat down together, as they had so many times in the past. “I’m sure you have much to tell us. But first, your quest—was it a success?”
J’Al and J’An hid smiles. They appreciated the fact that their father was being diplomatic, but really! It wasn’t a question of whether or not Jebel had made it to Tubaygat but if he had got any farther than the borders of Abu Aineh.
Before Jebel could answer, Rashed said, “We won’t be ashamed if you failed. I should have mentioned you when I praised J’Al and J’An in public. This was my fault, and if your quest was unsuccessful, I will accept the blame. You need not worry about people criticizing you or—”
“Father,” Jebel interrupted. “It’s all right. I don’t care what people think.”
“Then you did fail,” J’An said.
“No, I didn’t,” Jebel replied quietly, causing his father and brothers to blink.
“What do you mean?” J’Al snapped. “Are you saying you’ve been to Tubaygat?”
“Yes.”
“Nonsense!” J’An snorted.
“Jebel,” said Rashed uneasily. “To undertake such a harsh quest was an act of bravery. If you failed, you need not feel ashamed. But if you lie about it now…”
Jebel wasn’t surprised or offended by their doubts. In their place, he would have been skeptical too. “We can discuss this later,” he said. “First I have a promise to keep. Where are Murasa and her children? I vowed to free them when I returned.”
“They’re in Fruth,” Rashed said. “I didn’t want to keep them here—you know I don’t trust slaves—so I made them stay in their old home.”
“I’ll fetch them,” Jebel said, then paused. “I’m not sure how to confirm their freedom. Are there papers I must sign?”
Rashed gazed at his son, gravely troubled, then saw something in the boy’s eyes that made him bite his tongue. “I’ll take care of the technicalities,” he said gruffly. “Bring the slaves to the palace. I will meet you in the chamber of registration—ask when you arrive, and you’ll be directed to it.”
Jebel bowed and set off for Fruth.
Behind him, J’Al and J’An squinted at their father. “Do you really believe—” J’An began.
“Enough,” Rashed cut him short. “He is my son, and flawed as he might be, I will not have him openly disrespected.” He pointed at J’Al. “J’An Nasrim has returned to Wadi. Find him and tell him that Jebel is back. Ask him to meet us at the palace.” J’Al opened his mouth to argue. “Go now!” Rashed barked, and J’Al was out of the house and running before the echo of his father’s command stopped ringing.
Jebel thought that he’d have to ask for directions to Murasa’s house, but his feet remembered the way, and before long he was standing in front of the doorway with the long strips of colored rope hanging from the crossbeam. “Entrance requested,” Jebel called softly, and a woman’s voice invited him in.
Murasa was playing with her children. When they saw Jebel, the games stopped. Her face whitened with shock, then grew hard. “Greetings, master Rum,” she murmured, standing in order to bow.
“Greetings,” Jebel said politely. He felt even more nervous than he had on his father’s doorstep.
“I am pleased to see you again,” Murasa said unconvincingly.
“And I’m pleased to see you,” Jebel said with more honesty.
There was a strained silence, then Murasa said, “All went well, my lord?”
Jebel winced. “It didn’t go as expected but, yes, I suppose it went well.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t kill your husband.” Her eyes widened and filled with hope. Jebel hated having to dash that hope, but it couldn’t be avoided. “He’s dead,” Jebel said, and the warmth faded from Murasa’s face. “He was killed by an insane missionary at Tubaygat,” Jebel went on, beginning at the end. Then he told Murasa and the children about his quest, the adventures he and Tel Hesani had faced together and separately, the trials they’d endured, and the awful price they had paid at the finish.
It was a long tale, and by the end everybody was weeping, Murasa, the children, and Jebel. It never crossed Murasa’s mind that Jebel might be lying—he spoke in the simple tones of one who was telling the unadorned truth.
“You are not the boy I met a year ago,” she said when she finally could speak.
“No,” Jebel sighed. “I’ve changed. It’s probably for the worse—I’m sure the gods will curse me for my weakness—but even so, I wish it had happened earlier. Maybe I could have saved…” He trailed off into silence, then told Murasa to get ready. “I’m anxious to settle this. You won’t spend one more night as slaves.”
“One night isn’t much,” Murasa said.
Jebel shook his head, recalling his treatment at the hands of Bush and Blair, and the Um Biyara. “One night of slavery is too much.”
Murasa nodded, then turned to her children and told them to fetch anything they wanted to bring—they were leaving this wretched place in a few minutes and never coming back.
*
There was great excitement at the palace when Jebel turned up. Rashed Rum had entered with J’An a couple of hours earlier and requested an audience with the high lord. Wadi Alg swiftly appeared, flustered, wondering what had prompted the unexpected visit. When Rashed Rum said that his youngest son had returned from his quest and was demanding freedom for the wife and children of the slave he’d sacrificed, Wadi Alg didn’t know what the executioner was talking about. His wife, Danafah, had to quietly remind him of the thin boy he had sent on his way the year before.
They were all waiting for Jebel when he arrived, his father and brothers, Wadi and Danafah Alg, the officials responsible for the deeds of slavery, and as many more as could squeeze into the chamber. Debbat Alg was there too, along with Bastina. Neither girl could believe that Jebel had come back victorious. Bastina was afraid he’d be humiliated and executed. Debbat suspected the same thing, but she was looking forward to it—she had no time for deceiful little boys who pretended to be heroes.
All talking ceased when Jebel and the slaves entered. They marched to the table of the high lord, and Jebel bowed respectfully. “Sire,” he said.
“Welcome, master Rum,” Wadi Alg replied with a tight smile. “It’s been some time since you were last before me. Have you kept well?”
“I
survived, sire,” Jebel answered neutrally. “And I have come to seek freedom for Murasa and her children, as agreed when you sanctioned my quest.”
The high lord cleared his throat. He didn’t want to openly question Jebel in front of the boy’s father, but he had to. Phrasing his words carefully, he said, “That deal was only valid if you completed your quest or died on the path, not if you returned unsuccessfully.”
“But I have completed the quest,” Jebel said.
Wadi Alg frowned. “You’ve been to Tubaygat? You petitioned Sabbah Eid? You sacrificed the slave and were granted invincibility?”
Jebel looked at the high lord and said, “I am not a liar, sire. I will undertake any test you deem necessary.”
Wadi Alg didn’t know how to respond. Before he could think of something, Rashed Rum said softly, “My son’s oath is mine, my lord. If you doubt his word, you doubt mine too.”
“No!” Wadi Alg gasped. “I didn’t mean to insult you! I just…”
“My husband doesn’t doubt your son,” Danafah interjected smoothly, as her husband floundered. “But a test is customary, I believe.”
“With respect, my lady, it is not,” somebody else replied, and Jebel caught sight of J’An Nasrim pushing forward. The worldly traveler winked rakishly at Jebel before facing the high lord and lady. “No quester has ever been asked to undertake a test. One cannot pretend to be invincible. Those who return and claim success are always greeted without suspicion. If, later, it should prove to be a lie, the liar can expect a grisly, painful, protracted execution. But if you demand a test at this point, you will set a new, unsavory, and belittling precedent.”
Even though J’An Nasrim was not thought of highly in Wadi, there were murmurs of agreement all around. Most of those present were sure that the boy was lying, but this was not the time or place to question his honor.
Wadi Alg coughed and said, “We will, of course, take you at your word. The slaves will be freed tonight.” He paused craftily. “As I recollect, you undertook the quest in order to compete in the mukhayret.”
“Yes, my lord,” Jebel said, “but—”
He’d been about to say that he wasn’t interested in becoming the executioner now, but Wadi Alg interrupted. “Very good. We look forward to watching you compete. It will be most invigorating to follow the fortunes of a successful quester in action.”
Though the high lord phrased it lightly, his implication was clear. The mukhayret would serve as Jebel’s test. If he beat all other contenders, his word would be accepted and the city would rejoice. If, on the other hand, he declined to compete or was defeated in the competition, it would mean death at the axe of the new executioner.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Jebel spent the three days before the mukhayret at home with his father and brothers. They spent many hours talking about what Rashed Rum, J’Al, and J’An had been up to since Jebel left, but said little about his year in the wilderness. It wasn’t that they weren’t interested in his adventures—they most certainly were!—but none of the three was convinced that Jebel had been to Tubaygat. They felt embarrassed talking about things that were probably pure fantasy. Jebel sensed this and kept his tales of wonder and terror to himself. He understood why they found it hard to accept his word. When he had proved himself, they could discuss his journey. For now it was nice just to chat about their everyday lives.
Many people wanted to visit, but a stern Rashed Rum turned most away. Two of the few he admitted were J’An Nasrim and Bastina—he could tell that both were truly interested in Jebel and not in whether or not he’d seen Sabbah Eid.
Jebel would have happily told J’An Nasrim about his trip, but the traveler didn’t ask many questions except to inquire as to the fate of Tel Hesani. Jebel told him as much as he could about the Um Kheshabah, of his bravery and loyalty, and J’An Nasrim went away proud of his old, lost friend.
Jebel also talked of his quest with Bastina, who turned up shaking a hand filled with three silver coins at him. He had forgotten all about the coins that he had given to her just prior to setting off on his quest.
“I decided to spend them on a memorial stone for you,” Bastina said, pocketing the coins again.
“But I’ve come back alive,” Jebel said, pointing out the obvious.
“Yes,” Bastina smirked. “But you have to die one day. I’m happy to wait.”
Unlike his father and brothers, Bastina believed him implicitly. Jebel enjoyed telling the sad-faced girl his story. She listened quietly, prompting him only when she required more details, such as when he was trying to describe the colors of the siq or the movements of the rock spirits. When he told her about his meeting with Rakhebt Wadak, she shivered deliciously, knowing the story would fuel her nightmares for months to come.
Jebel asked about Debbat Alg a couple of times. Had she said anything about him? Was she excited by his return? Bastina didn’t want to get sidetracked talking about her mistress, but she could see how keen Jebel was for news.
“Yes, she’s excited,” Bastina muttered. “She doesn’t believe that you completed your quest, but she hopes you did. The thought of being married to an invincible executioner appeals to her. She will be a most appreciative wife.”
“I hope so, Bas,” Jebel sighed. “She’s so beautiful, so exquisite…. But I want her heart as well as her face.”
Bastina stifled a snort—she didn’t think the high maid had a heart!—and asked a question about the Um Saga, to change the subject and take Jebel’s mind off the pretty but petty girl who would in a few days be his life-bound bride.
The day of the mukhayret dawned bright. The crowds had started to gather in the hours before sunrise. Excitement had been at fever pitch all week but escalated to fresh heights as news spread of Jebel Rum’s return. While almost nobody believed that the frail, skinny boy had met Sabbah Eid, they couldn’t be certain until they saw him in action. And if they were wrong about him… well, it was rare to be present when a new executioner was appointed, but if that executioner turned out to be a successful quester, it was more than the chance of a lifetime—it was the chance of a millennium.
The area around the competition fields was packed solid by the time of the first event. There would be ten events in total to test the speed, strength, and skill of the sixteen entrants. Four fields had been set aside, and two events would be staged in each. Another would take part in the river, and one on the streets of Wadi, where the entrants would have to run a ten-mile race beneath the blazing midday sun.
Mukhayrets normally didn’t draw a lot of entrants. Nobody wanted to be beaten and disgraced in front of a large crowd, so only those who truly believed themselves capable of winning put their names forward. But on this occasion there were many worthy competitors—seven from Wadi (three from the one family, which was unheard of), the rest from various parts of Abu Aineh.
J’Al and J’An Rum were two of the favorites. There were a couple of others strongly fancied by wagerers, but most of the serious gamblers were betting on Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh. He had been born in Abu Aineh but raised in Abu Judayda. He was a huge, steely-eyed young man. The others would have to perform to their highest standards to defeat the Um Judayda.
Jebel was the dark horse of the tournament. Almost nobody had bet on him, and there were only scattered, ironic cheers when his name was announced.
The first four events were tests of strength: rock throwing, two rounds of javelins—one with each hand—and weights. The weakest entrant would be eliminated from each event.
The young men drew straws to determine their order. J’Al was to go second, Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh eighth, Jebel eleventh, and J’An fifteenth.
Jebel studied the crowd as the first four contestants prepared to throw their rocks. Every class of um Wadi was present, the rich jostling for position with the poor. Except for the high lord’s box, there was no elitism at a mukhayret. You had to come early and be prepared to use your elbows to get a good view.
Jebel was especially in
terested in the people sitting with the high lord and his family. His father was there, and several of the city’s highest officials. But only Debbat Alg caught Jebel’s eye. She looked more stunning than ever. She had spent the last two days preparing for this. It was common knowledge that the winner of the mukhayret would almost certainly choose her to be his wife, and she wanted to look her best when her big moment came. Jebel’s stomach flipped when he saw her, and for the first time since his return he was glad to be involved in the competition.
To the sound of a mighty roar, the four contestants lobbed their rocks down the field. J’Al’s rock went the second farthest, so he was guaranteed a place in the next round. But he wasn’t happy with his throw, and Jebel saw him scowling as he returned.
The next four threw, and Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh’s rock went farther than anyone else’s. The crowd murmured nervously. Though he had the right by birth to participate in the mukhayret, nobody wanted to see an outsider win. The crowd could only hope that he was all brute strength and would slip up in the events where more skill was required.
Jebel was up next, with the third batch of throwers. His stomach fluttered as he stepped forward. He hadn’t tested himself since returning from Tubaygat. What if his powers had faded? Even if they hadn’t, how would he know his limits? He didn’t want to put all of his energy into the first few events in case he exhausted himself and faded later. But what if he held back too much and crashed out in the first round?
Jebel picked up a rock about the size of a boar’s head and was still trying to decide how much effort to put into it when the whistle blew. Panicking, he stepped forward and threw the stone wildly.
Jaws dropped long before the rock came down. It sailed far past any of the others, and over the heads of the people who’d gathered at the end of the field, where officials had thought they were well out of harm’s way. With yelps and screams they scattered. When the rock hit the earth, it had traveled three times the distance of Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh’s.