The Other Side - Part 10

Northeastern section of the Royal Gardens
The Guardians Citadel “Il Wasi Qal’a”
Midnight

“Draw your weapons!  Swords out and stay alert,” Dharr al Rushdi tersely ordered the nine other warriors as he paced around the doorway leading out of the city.  Over the years, the opening had been covered with thick vegetation and they had lost precious time to clearing away as much of the clinging vines and trees as possible. Engrossed with the task at hand, he had allowed them to relax their guard, and had almost remained blissfully unaware of the slight and increasingly tense change in the atmosphere.

He looked up to check the moon’s position as a way of gauging how much time had passed, and blinked in surprise when he saw that the silver orb had been partially covered by spiky wisps of clouds.  Dharr frowned and shook his head, certain that his mind was playing tricks on him from exhaustion. 

He observed that the clouds had now turned into a thick, gray colored mist, and the mass was pulsing, seething as it trickled down from the sky and rolled across the ground several yards in front of him.  It curled and unrolled as it glided across the grass like silken fabric, undulating and rippling as it slowly, steadily grew in size.

“Ir-raHman Allah,” Dharr whispered in disbelief when the vapor shifted again, and he could distinguish distinct shapes within it, figures that looked oddly human and horribly misshapen as they matured and solidified.  He pulled his weapon free with practiced ease and its metallic ring echoed through the night as skeletal fingers formed, reaching for them as the mist continued its deadly journey.  “La id!  La id! Yousef, Maroud…guard the doorway!    Firdaus, Butrus!  Take two warriors and follow the path towards the south, I want you to intercept Commander al Faud and inform him there has been a change of plans.  Tell him he must leave the citadel now!”

As the warriors quickly dispersed to obey their orders, Dharr and the remaining three warriors stood in front of the opening, their weapons drawn and legs braced far apart as the ghostly vapor rose up before them, its tendrils flailing in the air.

“What in the name of Allah is that?” one of the warriors whispered in disbelief.

“The enemy.  Do not engage unless I give the command,” Dharr ordered and tightened his grip on the hilt of his weapon, his mouth a grim line of determination. 

Suddenly the mist exploded, splintering into a thousand pieces as a chorus of inhuman howls of fury and pain filled the air.  Dark apparitions darted through the air, some flying off towards the warriors that were running down the pathway, while others instantly attacked those left behind.  They screamed and cursed, mouths opening like a black yawning chasm of the damned and their boney, claw-like hands reached for the hearts and souls of their prey.  

Dharr uttered a prayer for divine guidance and safety as he braced himself for the charge, and as the undead grew closer with frightening speed, his sherry colored eyes widened in surprise when suddenly one of them passed through him.  Coldness unlike any he had ever known raced through his body and his scimitar dropped from his deadened hand; moments later he sank to his knees.  Before Dharr slipped into a frozen oblivion, more of the Soulless Ones attacked him, swirling around him as their screams reached a terrifying crescendo.  And then he knew nothing except an icy blackness that rapidly drained what light and warmth was left in his soul.

~*~

Khori somehow had managed to hold back her cry of despair when the warriors were attacked by the undead, and she instantly reacted to the threat by pulling her darrod-aj [dagger] from the leather ankle sheath in defense.  She braced her body against the tree limb to ensure she wouldn’t fall and in mute horror she watched from her safe vantage point the lopsided battle below. 

Her heartbeat skipped and then accelerated as the warriors she had come to know, the men she had observed for so many days, were easily cut down like ripe wheat.  The phantoms held no mercy, no compassion, and seemed eager to obey their mistress’ command; the wary assassin who had firmly believed no man was worth redemption almost wept from the staggering loss.

And then she uttered a curse for her stupidity in allowing her curiosity to rule her actions.

Curiosity.

It was one of Khori’s greatest vices, and while it had been benevolently tolerated when she was a child, her various masters over the past few years had little patience for her inquisitive nature.  And more often than not, a horrible beating followed by seemingly endless days of deprivation would adequately curb her impulse to learn more. 

It was what drove her to learn more about her enemies, and she had clandestinely recorded her observations, analyzing any weakness in each warrior so they could be easily defeated if the time came.  She hid in the gardens at night, and had used the lush foliage as cover so she could easily observe the scorned and demoted warrior’s hurried activities, reporting to Lady Dareejah their every move.

Since her acquisition, freedom came in various forms with the lady, and the change had been gladly welcomed; Khori eagerly took advantage of her new mistress’ lapse in control.  She had explored her surroundings while Lady Dareejah seemed to be more concerned about reading old manuscripts and books than the whereabouts of one of her slaves.  And on silent feet she had crept through the various gardens and courtyards, chambers and solariums, acutely aware that the entire kingdom was steeped in sorrow over the catastrophic events several days ago. 

Khori had been surprisingly content in her new position, and as the city around her had erupted in grief and chaos, she remained a shadow – always observing, always absorbing, and storing away the facts for future reference.  She had been quite prepared to remain unobtrusive and fade from Lady Dareejah’s notice, eventually escaping to the outside in one last desperate bid for freedom.

Until the good lady had need of her services for a new assignment and had ordered her compliance two nights ago.  Like the excellent hunter that she was, Khori had ferreted out certain facts regarding the death of the king and his cousin, but had wisely given Lady Dareejah a small portion of the news. Self preservation made her keep the full details to herself for later use, and as the day had passed, Khori had foolishly deliberated over that choice. 

Before making her decision  and needing her own confirmation, Khori had chosen her weapons carefully before slipping out into the cool night air, feeling confident that she held the advantage.  On silent feet she had navigated the narrow pathways of one of the larger gardens, and had unexpectedly stumbled across a small group of warriors gathered near the garden’s exit.

Instantly she had recognized Honored Second Rushdi and had secretly admired the warrior for his skill and prowess in battle, having learned about him from reading various manuscripts and her observations.  She had swiftly scaled the nearest tree with the thickest cover and once settled, she cautiously observed them as they cleared out a small section of greenery, revealing an ancient looking door covered with emerald green moss.  

Curiosity was what propelled her to stay and try to determine why they were acting so suspiciously.  And it was her cursed curiosity about the Medjai, mainly the honor bound warriors, that drove Khori to move closer so she could inconspicuously observe the warrior who had effortlessly captured her imagination.

The battle was over in minutes and the grisly specters hovered over their victims, their unearthly hands moving over the bodies in a macabre parody of a caress.  Khori slowly moved down the limb to gain a better view, and to better understand why they lingered after so easily won a victory. She landed lightly on the ground and crouched down, her body tense and ready to spring away to safety if need be. She still had her darrod-aj but after what she had witnessed, it would be useless against this kind of foe.

Cautiously she moved forward, and darted behind another tree for concealment as her instincts screamed out a warning.  Something sinister was happening and the fine hairs on the back of Khori’s neck stood up in response as chills raced down her spine.  She melted back into the shadows and waited, watching the area with the unblinking eye of a predator.

~*~

Meanwhile at the Southern section of the Garden
The Guardians Citadel “Il Wasi Qal’a”

“Where is my husband? Why are we in this wagon and most importantly of all, why are we sneaking out of the citadel at night?”

Nabil inwardly cringed from the tearful tone in Ralon’s wife’s voice and he gripped the reins a little tighter, urging the horses into a brisk trot down the garden walkway. He glanced over his shoulder at the healer, Raphael Abdul-Nassir, and felt a moment of compassion for the man, wondering if he would supply the answers so desperately needed or wait until they were safely outside the citadel before breaking the news.

“Ya sitti Bay, for your sake as well as your unborn child’s, you must try to rest,” Raphael  soothed as he caught Nabil’s glance while he folded a blanket, and then placed it behind to cushion what he surmised was her already sore back.  He sat back and marveled for a moment that Tina Gordon-Bay was not what he had expected her to be – she was not crying hysterically. She was not irrational and up until this point, she had been anything but demanding.

Tina snorted and rolled her eyes at Raphael.  “Rest? How can I possibly rest when no one wants to tell me where Ralon is, or why I haven’t been able to speak to Ardeth for that matter?”  She stopped and sighed deeply, instinctively curling her hands protectively over her protruding stomach with a wan smile.  Her child was quiet this night but then again, considering the stress from the journey to the citadel and her arrival only a day ago that was met with cool indifference, she was glad one of them was able to rest.

“You must try to save your strength if you can during the journey,” Raphael said with a slight smile, intrigued that so far she had yet to utter a word of complaint, despite the chilly reception yesterday and vague answers to her repeated questions about her husband.  “And I promise you all of your questions will be answered in due time.”

Tina boldly stared at the healer sitting across from her and had to grudgingly admit that he was a handsome and enigmatic young man; too mysterious for her tastes and she felt a pang of loneliness race through her heart.  She missed Ralon very much.  And the desire to see him again so they could be together for the birth of their first child had prompted her to accept the invitation to the citadel extended by the small patrol of warriors that had appeared in front of her home a few days ago.  “Do you promise, healer?” she asked softly, earnestly searching his face.

“Aiwa, I give you my word,” Raphael finally replied after a few moments of silence as the wagon lumbered along. Nabil was taking them to the northeast section of the garden that led to a passage out of the city in an effort to keep Tina’s departure a secret. There they would meet with a small group of warriors, led by Dharr, who had bravely lingered in their beloved city, hoping to obtain a meeting with the Elders.  They had wanted to proclaim their innocence of the charges Lady Dareejah had filed against them for the murder of Ralon and Ardeth Bay.   

Raphael had a disturbing feeling that all had not gone well, and removing Tina from danger as well as vacating the city, seemed like the best, if not disheartening, plan.  Much had transpired in his absence and for a moment Raphael felt guilty for not being able to serve his king and his people as his oath mandated.  Perhaps if he had been with Ardeth and Ralon that night…if he had been able to dissuade Lady Dareejah from her dangerous course of action…if only he could have been there to save his king instead of going on an unexpected sabbatical. 

“So is it true then?” Tina boldly asked as she recalled the numerous stories she had heard, prior to her departure, about the puzzling healer.  The gossipers of her village had said that Raphael had mysteriously disappeared from the citadel a few weeks ago, and the popular consensus had been that the notorious Lady Dareejah had finally found a way to eliminate one more opponent.   To further fuel speculation, the various search parties that had been sent out by Ardeth had returned unsuccessful in finding the healer.  “They say that you have this power…a gift that had been lost to the Medjai for thousands of years…oh, what did they call it?”

“The dahab Hass or Golden Touch,” Raphael answered quietly, feeling slightly uncomfortable about the topic of conversation.  He glanced at the broad back of the commander as the wagon slowly traveled around a curve in the path, and then back at Tina as he wrestled with an internal turmoil since lessons from the past had proved that most sought to exploit him for his power rather than praise him.  “And surely you know that the tribal or village gossip mongers like to tell tall tales, ya sitti, especially when it involves a legend coming to life.  Forgive me if I disappoint you but I am simply a man who wishes to help ease suffering, heal the sick, and tend to the wounded.”

“Then perhaps you are destined for greater things, and your gift may yet appear,” Tina replied, wishing to impart some encouragement as she pointed to the tattoo near Raphael’s left eye. “And I know having you close as my time draws near is a great comfort and for that, both Ralon and I are most grateful.  Shukran.”

Raphael silently acknowledged Tina’s appreciation with a nod, but felt uncertain with what seemed to be her blind trust and faith in his abilities.  His own confidence had been shaken by the current upheaval within the kingdom and he had to wonder if the change within him had been in reaction to those tragic events.

~*~

The occupants of the wagon fell silent as Nabil, who had been a quiet and empathetic observer to the conversation, slowly brought the cart to halt. He expertly pulled back on the reins to control the suddenly nervous horses as his gaze swept over the area and his hand dropped to rest on the hilt of his scimitar.  “Something is…coming,” he murmured.   

“What is it? What is wrong?” Raphael asked as he stood up and looked over Nabil’s shoulder.  He glanced at the warrior and his gaze skimmed over Nabil’s rigid stance and intent surveillance of the garden as if he were expecting the enemy to suddenly attack.  He was about to return to Tina’s side when something caught his eye.  “There, near the stone bench! Do you see?”

“I see,” Nabil replied brusquely as thick tendrils of a mist seeped through the foliage, its long serpentine-like fingers reaching for those he had sworn to protect.  He had little to choose from in the form of confrontations, and as the vapors grew steadily larger, he slapped the reins and urged the already panicked horses into flight. 

“What are you doing?” Raphael shouted over the wind as the wagon careened down the path. 

Nabil slapped the reins again when the horses faltered and the frustrated screams of the enemy echoed through the night.  “Buying us time,” he shouted back and turned partially around to address Raphael.  “No matter what happens, Lady Bay’s safety is our primary concern, healer!  Do you understand?  She must leave the citadel tonight or all will be lost!”

“What about you?” Raphael asked as he clung to one side of the wagon, his heart racing in his chest as he felt a current of cold air hit his body. 

“I am of no concern! Swear on your oath, Raphael, now!” Nabil shouted. He pulled back hard on the reins when they had reached the clearing near the doorway and had trouble controlling the skittish horses.  He stood up and almost lost his balance as the horses lunged against the harness, but he managed to pull his weapon free.  He raised his scimitar and looked around at the surrounding lawn, discovering it was littered with strange looking white objects.  A blast of cold air surrounded his body and that served as his only warning; Nabil jumped down from the wagon and spun around, expecting his opponent to attack.

Instead he found the body, or what was left of one, of Dharr’s warriors, its features and appendages frozen in an eternal expression of horror and agony. 

Nabil’s last and instantaneous response was to raise his scimitar to defend himself, but realized too late that the Soulless Ones were impervious to the taste of steel.  He fell to his knees as they swarmed over him, and he gritted his teeth against their cold, cruel invasion of his body.  He dimly heard Raphael shouting his name as he struggled to keep fighting; it was no use and over in a matter of moments.

Raphael whispered a prayer for salvation when Nabil finally collapsed and when he looked up, he found most of the Soulless Ones were hovering in front of him, their black eyes seemingly focused on Tina who hid behind him.  And when they reached for her, as if to feed from the light within her soul, a light enhanced by the babe she carried, a babe who was of the blood, he reacted without thought, and without hesitation.

~*~

Khori crawled across the surprisingly wet grass until she was only a few feet away from Dharr, each breath uttering a curse against her stupidity, against her violation of her own oath regarding her involvement with the Medjai and berating her dormant woman’s heart.  It was this unexpected sentimentality that had prompted her to move away from her hiding place, and see if she could help the stricken warrior. 

Foolish at it was, she was inches away from touching him when she heard a roar of fury and looked up to see a blinding flash of golden light erupt from the hands of a man battling the apparitions.

~*~

“You…will…not…have her!” Raphael bellowed as he felt his power surge and he raised his hands as it flowed from his body in great arcs of light.  “You will not…have any of them! Begone succubus!  Leave this place and return to the one who has called you forth, for I command it!”

The Soulless Ones tried to retaliate and their furious shrieks were mingled with fear as a large wall of light sped towards them, covering everything in its path with its healing glow.  Unable to withstand the purity that it brought, and the truth that it revealed, the insubstantial and ghostly flesh of the shamed men started breaking off and dissolving, returning to the one who had commanded them.

Raphael snarled and unleashed the full extent of his power, reveling for a moment in the feel of it as it blanketed those who had so bravely fallen.  And the darkness that dwelled within the recesses of his mind crept forward, whispering insidiously to him, coaxing him to set his power free.  It would be so easy to do and the rewards would be greater than the kingdom of the Medjai, it would be all the riches and kingdoms of two worlds…

“La! You do not…control me!” With an anguished cry, Raphael fought and won control of his gift that was also a curse and gradually the light subsided.  It slowly, gently faded until all that was left was the halo of gold that surrounded the healer as he closed his eyes, swaying on his feet. 

~*~

Khori was stunned into silence by the miracle she had just witnessed and she was tempted to return to her hiding place in order to gain some time to process everything.  And she was puzzled by her reluctance to leave the warrior Dharr in such a vulnerable state; his clothing was damp and his body was violently shivering. 

As if sensing her scrutiny, Dharr’s eyes fluttered opened and he stared at Khori in confusion as he wrapped his arms around his torso.  He was resting on one side, his weapon lying a few inches away, and he watched as she immediately reached out, pushing the scimitar back to him.  “For my people, the honorable way to die was with your weapon in your hand, not by an ambush,” she whispered.

Dharr blinked in surprise from her actions, but he reached out with one shaking hand, and sighed when it closed over the familiar texture of his scimitar’s hilt.  He stared at Khori as she quietly crawled backwards and he tried to speak, but the words that came out were harsh and guttural.  “La…instanZar…wait…” he croaked. 

Khori shook her head as she melted back into the shadows but she knew that in the long hours of the nights to come, the look of gratitude in Dharr’s unusually colored eyes would remain with her until dawn.  And that was enough for now.

~*~

Dareejah had no time to scream.

Something far more powerful than what she could have ever imagined had returned the Soulless Ones, and the backlash nearly destroyed the room.  As the otherworldly storm blasted through the large floor to ceiling windows, she stumbled over to her writing table and held on.

Howling winds buffeted the windows of her chamber and swept into the room, rattling furniture and shaking the table until the mask shards danced off the edge, falling to the ground.  She tried to catch the pieces but when the ghosts had arrived in an angry seething mass, she made the mistake of standing up, and received the full brunt of the surge.

It dealt a harsh blow to her chest and flung her body backwards, tumbling it feet over head until she came to a breathless stop against the platform for her bed.  Dareejah was unable to move, and in mute horror mingled with fascination, she watched as the undead swirled about the ravaged room before finally returning to the shards.

Abruptly the wind died down as a thousand voices ceased their wailing and all that was left was an eerie silence.  Dareejah felt something tickle the side of her face and she reached up to touch it; when she brought her hand down, she stared at the blood staining her fingers in disbelief.

And then she did scream before she fainted. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Other Side – Chapter 11