Story Time: Hall of the Mountain Lord pt 4

Continuing from Part 3, here is the fourth part of the ongoing story: enjoy!

***
With nothing more to do or say there, Adara and Hamim quickly finished their bread and tea, and made their way back out into daylight. The wind had finally died down a bit, and the gold of the sun and the azure sky could now be seen in their glory.

Adara mounted on the camel with Hamim walking alongside, they were still within visual distance of Lacan's home when they noticed a lone figure running after them.

Adara stopped the camel mid-trot with a well placed mark of her riding-stick, while she and Hamim awaited this vision to catch up with them. It was clear from his speed, as well as his reddish cloak, that the runner was the boy Zorab well before the sight of his face made this point completely obvious.

After a minute or two the racing figure of Zorab finally met up with the two travelers. Panting for breath in the desert heat, he said: "Whew! Thank you for stopping. You two move quickly!"

"How can we help you, Master Zorab?" asked Hamim.

"Ah!" said Zorab "You speak! But you ask the wrong question. It is I who have come to offer my help to you."

"Help?" asked Hamim "What help might you give us?"

"Hamim" rebuked Adara, gently. "Please, Master Zorab. Please do explain yourself."

"My Master is wise" noted Zorab, "..but wisdom is not all in this world. I think that together we can save your brother,"

"How?" inquired Adara, her breast now refilled with an abandoned hope.

"What?" asked Hamim: "Who are you now? We just spoke to your teacher and master, and he told us the very opposite! Who are you to fill our ears with such promises?"

"Mister Hamim" said Zorab gravely, looking the serious boy now straight in the eye:

"Please do not underestimate me due to my manner. I have seen such things the likes that mortal men pass off as mere legend. I have dispensed with such horrors that your very nightmares dare not even generate. I assure you that this sort of thing- exactly this sort of thing, actually- is the very territory by which I live, the very air that I breathe. And I should ask you not to question me in such matters."

Something about the boy's gaze made Hamim shudder, and now fall silent.

"But" interjected Adara "Your Master said that it is impossible..."

"And as I said just now- he is very wise" confirmed Zorab, "As is your Imam. But wisdom is not all in this world. Wisdom is simply the knowledge of the past, applied to the present. To see the world in wisdom is to see with the eye that sees itself. But one cannot see the whole world, with only this one eye."

He continued "To find your brother, we must follow his path. You will need me to find this path, I think. And I will need you to take me to him, as you two are associated. The link that refuses to let him go is the link that shall redeem him."

"Well..." he said, now sounding a tad less confident - "In theory. But we should definitely give it a go! So.....how about it?"

"We place ourselves in your hands, Master Zorab" said Adara "I can trust that we can trust you?"

"Of course!" said Zorab, enthusiastic. "It shall be a grand adventure! I am sure that we will do well. We should not dawdle- meet tomorrow morning? I suggest that you pack for four-days journey, just in case."

"Wait," said Hamim, awoken from his spell "Milady, we are really going to trust this....boy?"

"Yes, we are. And I do" she confirmed. "Zorab, I am putting my faith in you. Where and when shall we meet again?"

"By the town well, at first light tomorrow" stated Zorab "We will go to the place of Shamal's summoning, which I assume that you know. We should go on foot, so carry only that which you truly need; I will make sure to do the same."

"First light then" she affirmed. And with that, Zorab headed back to his Master's house, and Adara with Hamim to the house of her father.

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The moon stood high in the sky, bathing the valley in the hue of it's pale fire.

Then, ever so slowly the light of Eos - the sun's first rays- rose in the east, staining the eastern sky in it's royal crimson and gold. It was in this new light that Adara and Hamim, accompanied by their one camel, found themselves at the well. Hamim drew from it's waters, mostly operating by touch and memory in the semi-darkness. 

And so they waited, as the light continued to rise triumphant in the sky, banishing the moon into obscurity for another day. Soon would be dawn's Call to Prayer, which would stir the entire village to waking.

"Where is he?" wondered Hamim aloud. "Has he forgotten us? We stole away from home in silence- a shameful thing - and he does not have the decency to come?"

"He will be along shortly" said Adara. But her voice ended in a note of uncertainty now.

Then, finally, a small figure appeared on the horizon, moving not particularly quick in their direction. The figure became clearer and clearer as he moved ever more close; first the red of his cloak, then his blondish head, then his brown and handsome face, then his heavy lidded eyes. 

Seeing Hamim and Adara waiting, he waved, yawned, and smiled at them weakly - saying: "Good morrow to you."

"Good morrow" replied Adara.

"You are late", scolded Hamim. 

"Ah! Yes. Sorry!" apologized the boy, looking bashful in his tiredness. "I was up all night thinking what all I needed to bring. I got started out a bit late, I am afraid. But I am sure that I have everything."

"What all do you have?" asked Adara, curious. 

"I packed much of it half-asleep, so I am not 100% certain about all of it. Hmmm..." he said, rustling through his pack. "Many scrolls. Bread- important! Tea leaves; water. And....ummm...ah? What's this?" he asked aloud. He reached in with his hand, then pulled it out carrying a brass bell of foreign-make.

"Oh, that's pretty!" noted Adara.

"Why would you bring such a thing?" asked Hamim "You told us to pack light."

"It is a brass bell of Qinyan make" explained Zorab. "And I can't recall why I brought it now. It made sense last night...."

"If you cannot recall, how do you know that you need it?" asked Hamim, somewhat exasperated. 

"Oh, I do my best thinking half-asleep. That's when my Dreaming Eye is most alert. I am sure there is good reason to have it."

Then, "Speaking of which- why is there a camel? I recall saying that we should travel on foot."

"It is half a day's journey" said Hamim. "I would not let her ladyship travel on foot that long! Should she blister her feet, like some nomad?"

"Ah, no. I see your point there...I suppose we will simply have to look after the camel as well, somehow." He seemed to think on this a moment, then said "We will make do. So....shall we get going?"

"Yes, please" said Adara. And so they began their way to the hills of Shamal's last sighting, Adara on the camel's back now, with Hamim and Zorab walking alongside; the town soon tiny in the distance. 

Adara knew that it was now time for the Call to Prayer, but however strong the lungs of the cryer, no matter how she strained to listen she was unable to hear the voice.

"I have not missed the Call since I was very young, or very sick", noted Adara with regret. 

"The Goddess is forgiving", noted Zorab. "We shall meet her again, when her disc is at it's zenith in the sky."

And so they made their way along, deeper into the wilderness, as the little town disappeared completely behind a dune.

--------------------------------------------------

End Part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Story Time: Hall of the Mountain Lord pt 3

A continuation of the short story Hall of the Mountain Lord; in this episode our two travelers visit the home of the aged Lacan, who is rumored to be a wizard....

After two hours journey, they came upon the dwelling of Lacan.

It was set not far from a pool, but the home itself was set in the sand. Lacan's dwelling was unusual; in fact, remarkably so. Rather than a tent, or a house of mud-brick, Lacan lived in a house carved out of rock; a rock buried into the very earth itself.

It was said that the unusual house with the unusual design once belonged to the diminutive nomads known as the Iiyesi, but no one really knew for sure. What was known was that Lacan had made this place his home for as long as anyone now living could recall.

Hamim tied their camel to a post outside the door, then helped Adara to dismount. The baroque door itself was round, it's wood well-weathered by the sand, which filled every crack and crevice in it's frame.

Hamim rapped his staff upon the door, and awaited an answer. When none was forthcoming, he swung his staff to knock again; but at that very instant, the door flew open!

Hamim and Adara now looked upon a young man, seemingly about their same age as themselves. He wore a coat of burnt-red, his shirt beneath, in contrast, the shade of curdled cream. His skin was a shade lighter than Hamim's, and his eyes shone a pleasant green. His hair, interestingly enough, showed blonde; especially on top where it had been bleached by the sun.

Adara noted the boy's handsomeness, at this first viewing.

"Ah!" said the boy. "Good day. And who might you be?"

Adara lowed her veil, letting him see her face. "I am Adara, daughter of Yasser. I have come to speak with the master of this house."

"Peace be upon you, Adara" said the boy. "I am known as Zorab."

Then: 

"Master!" he yelled back into the house: "There is a pretty girl here to see you!"

"Now see here...!" started Hamim, indignant.

"Oh", said the boy called Zorab, to Hamim: "My apologies."

"A pretty girl" he shouted back "...and her camel-driver, are here to see you!"

"I am not interested in pretty girls, or camel-drivers!" said the voice within. "Ask them to please move on."

"Alas," explained Zorab: "my Master speaks the truth. Well...about the girls, at least. He might be in need of good camel-driver, at some point."

Adara looked the boy in the eye, and speaking calmly - but firmly - stated:

"Hamim here is a trusted and faithful servant of my house, and not a mere camel-driver, and this is not a social-call; and certainly not a marriage-offer! I am here to seek the aid of Master Lacan, who it has been said is magi, and a great scholar."

"Oh?!" exclaimed Zorab. "Master! She says..."

"I can hear well enough, Zorab- stop yelling everything back" complained the voice within. "And stop being rude to our guests and invite them in for food and drink, already."

"My apologies" said Zorab, sincerely, while opening the door for his guests; "Please, please- do come in!"

The space within was dimly lit, and seemingly poorly organized- at least it seemed to Adara, who toiled daily to keep her father's home clean and tidy.

Scrolls were everywhere - some tied closed, others unfurled- many covered with a light layer of dust. All manner of clay jars stood on shelves, and some atop the single table that was to be found in the center of the room. The boy Zorab dusted the table quickly, arranging the jars in the center, and removed an open scroll, laying it aside on a corner bench. He pulled up some cushions, motioning for the guests to sit.

Adara and Hamim sat at the table, both looking a bit uncomfortable (Hamim, if fact, looking very uncomfortable) as their eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the room. Zorab made some noise in the kitchen, and soon emerged with a serving of za'atar bread and nice, hot pot of strong tea, which he placed on the table for the two visitors. Neither touched either the offered food or beverage.

The man called Lacan emerged from the gloom, carrying a walking stick, which he leaned on ever-so-lightly. Adara noted that particles of dust danced around him, where shafts of light illuminated his form. His face was the texture of brown stone, weathered by decades of dust and sun. What had once been a rich head of black hair was now a few retreating strands of grey, One eye showed clear and black- alert- and the other covered by a white cloud, now dead. His robes were simple and brown, and showed signs here and there of many mendings. Not the trappings of a rich man, to be sure. But they had come to see a magi, and this Lacan looked every bit the part.

"Now" said Lacan, taking his seat with leaden groan. "Ah. Well, then. We are seated now, yes? So- you are Adara, daughter of Yasser?"

"Yes, Master Lacan" she affirmed. 

"And this handsome boy?"

"I..." started Hamim.

"He is Hamim, and he is servant to my house" interrupted Adara. 

"Oh?" started Lacan. "You would share a table with your slave? You traveled alone with him as well, I gather?"

"I trust Hamim above all others, as does my Father" insisted Adara. "And he may sit at any table that I do. Perhaps you feel otherwise, Master Lacan?" she asked, a small portion of her anger showing in her voice.

The old man looked more amused than anything. "Oh no! My table is open to all visitors, regardless of station. As is my pantry; so please... Please! Do eat! Zorab there may look - and, sadly, act - rather foppish, but he is a capable cook. I think that you will find the tea and bread to your liking."

"Thank you, but we have come here for a grave purpose, Master Lacan..." interjected Adara.

"I see this" said Lacan, stopping her midway. "And important matters should not be discussed on an empty stomach. Zorab, would you be so kind as to pour some tea for your Master as well?" he inquired "Unless you think that I am not worthy of service, in my own home?"

"Ah!" said Zorab. "Oops! Yes, let me find you a cup, Master." He quickly found a cup, and dutifully poured the tea for his Master.

The boy and girl ate their bread, and drank their tea- both were in fact, delicious - while the old man watched them, slowly sipping the rich beverage from his own vessel.

Finally, he said "Please, now- tell me why you traveled so far to see me today."

So Adara told her tale, as she had for the Imam, answering Lacan's brief questions. She told of the Moon, the bell, how she was somehow dreaming while awake; unable to move. Unable to save her only, her beautiful little brother. A few unwanted tears appeared again, the boy Zorab handing her a cloth to wipe them away.

Lacan let her say all that she had to say, and finally asked: "And you told all of this to the Imam, already, right? To Dhakir."

"Yes" she said. She then bit her lower lip- hard enough to hurt, draining the color, and said "He told me to just give up on him! That he belonged to the Jinn- to the spirits- now!"

"The Imam is a wise man" concluded Lacan " Although wisdom is not often well-received."

"Adara," he paused "...Adara. You are a kind soul, and a brave one, I am sure. I can see that you truly love your brother, and all of this must be painful for you. I understand that your own mother has passed on?"

"Yes" confirmed Adara. "Shamal never knew her."

"Ah" said Lacan, now seeing the full picture "Then you have been as a mother to Shamal as well. I see. That makes what I am about the say all the more difficult, I suppose."

"Adara?" 

"Yes?" she said.

"The Imam was correct, I think. Shamal has been called into the land of Air Spirits, and no longer belongs to this world- which is called 'Midworld' in the Grand Cosmology. You should go about your life, and have your own children. Think well of your brother. You can recall him forevermore, as he was."

"That is unacceptable!" she cried. "I should simply abandon my brother? Why become Imam, why join the world of the magi- if you cannot DO anything? What is the point of wisdom if it just means that you know yourself to be useless? Surely, there is something more that can done than this?! Than nothing?!"

"Indeed" said Lacan. "Indeed, I shall never become so old that I cannot be rebuked by the words of the young, I suppose. I apologize for my uselessness, young lady. I suppose I should rest these old bones now, so I should take my leave of you. Peace be upon you- please enjoy your fill before making your journey back home."

And with that, he left the table and the two young people on their own. 

---------------------------

End Part 3
Continued in Part 4
Part 1
Part 2

Character Highlight: Daemon in a Bottle

Per Tom Tyson's request from a post on Google Plus, here is the bottle daemon from Hall of the Mountain Lord via Fate and DC Heroes. :-)

Bottle Daemon (FAE)

• Aspects:

High Concept: Tiny and ancient daemon of the Second Creation
Trouble: Habitual deceiver
Other Aspects: Trapped in a bottle; I have seen the fall of my kind; What is it that you desire?

• Approaches:

+3 Sneaky
+2 Clever, Careful
+1 Quick, Flashy
+0 Forceful

• Stunts:

- Because I am a Skillful Manipulator, I gain +2 to Sneakily Overcome when attempting to ascertain the aspects of others.
- As I am a Firsthand Historian, I gain +2 to Cleverly Create an Advantage when my knowledge of ancient lore might be of use.
- Since I am Always One Step Ahead of my opponents, once per session I can declare or edit a situation aspect as long as this can be justified by my knowledge of magic.

• Refresh: 3
• Stress: OOO

Consequences:

• Mild (2):
• Moderate (4):
• Severe (6): 

***

Bottle Daemon (DC Heroes)

• Motivation: Thrill Seeker
• Occupation: Corrupter of the Innocent & not-so-Innocent
• Wealth: 0

Dex: 04 Str: 01 Body: 06*
Int: 08 Will: 07 Mind: 10
Infl: 12* Aura: 10 Spirit: 08
Init: 24 Hero Points: 75

• Powers: Invulnerability - 6*, Magic Sense - 7
• Skills: Occultist - 12*
• Advantages: Area Knowledge (Hell); Gift of Gab; Iron Nerves; Scholar (Ancient History); Sharp Eye
• Disadvantages: Catastrophic Irrational Attraction to Creating Trouble; Miscellaneous Drawback: Trapped in a Mystically Sealed Bottle; Attack Vulnerability to White Magic (-2 CS)

*Linked to attributes Body and Influence, respectively 

***

Story Time: Hall of the Mountain Lord pt 2

Continuing my earlier Story Time post, here is part 2 of Hall of the Mountain Lord.

Adara, Hamim, and Adara's father now sat in audience with the Imam.

Adara sat in silence, looking towards to floor with eyes still red and puffed from shed tears. A cup of coffee sat in her hands, almost hot enough to burn. She didn't mind the little bit of pain it caused- it helped to keep her focused, in a way.

The Imam put down his now empty cup of coffee, which a young serving boy instantly refilled with the steaming beverage. He took another sip, and now looking at Adara, he spoke to her:

"Adara: tell me what you told your Father- about your dream."

"It was just a dream, Teacher" she said.

"No dream is just a dream, daughter of Yasser" he replied. "Tell me what it was that you saw in your dream."

Hands shaking a bit, she took a sip of her coffee - it was strong and bitter, and she hated the flavor, but it gave her a moment to collect herself. Then she spoke:

"I saw...I saw my brother- I saw Shamal", another tear escaped down her cheek, which she brushed away with her sleeve. "I saw him in the moonlight. I...couldn't move. In the dream- outside the dream - I could not go to him. I couldn't go." Her single tear was now doubled, now trebled, and she struggled to wipe away their evidence as they fell without heed.

"I could not GO", she lamented.

"I understand, my child" said the Imam. "Please now- tell me more. What else do you recall?"

"I heard the sound- of a bell? Like the Moon itself was calling. But....but....the call was not for me...", she recounted.

"The Moon? It was the Moon that called?"

"I don't know, Imam", she said. "That is how it seemed in the dream. I saw Shamal- in the dream, I saw him- walk towards the rock above our camp, towards where the Moon's light shone brightest. Towards the sound of the bell."

"Teacher- can you tell us what the dream means?" asked Adara's Father, Yasser.

"Mmmmm" said the Imam, stroking his black beard. "Mmmmm. Was there anything more to the dream, Adara?"

"No, Imam"

"And you searched everywhere the following morning, right? No sign at all of him? Nothing taken from the camp?"

"Nothing- just the clothes on his back" said Hamim. "And we searched the area, calling for him, many times. There was no trace at all."

Hamim paused then, a pained look overtaking his countenance. "No trace at all", he repeated.

The Imam seemed lost in thought for a moment, taking a another sip from his coffee. Then he said, "Yasser?"

"Yes, Teacher?" said the other man.

"Yasser...." he paused before continuing "My friend. My dear friend.." he trailed off, and then said, gravely:

"You need not seek your boy any further, I am afraid. Based upon all that I have heard today, we must assume that he has been spirited away by the Jinn. I am very sorry."

"No" said Yasser, quietly. "No- by The Creator, please no. He...he is my only son."

"I am sorry, Yasser" said the Imam "I am so very, very sorry. There are simply things that are beyond our control and understanding in this world. There is nothing to be done."

Adara looked up to see a veil of despair fall over the face of her Father. She looked the Imam in the eye and said:

"Nothing?" she questioned. "Why have we come here then? You are our wise teacher and protector! You tell us that we can do nothing now?"

"Adara" cautioned her Father. "Please, do not be unseemly. The Imam is trying to help us."

But he continued, addressing the Imam, who he had known since a boy, now by name: 

"Dhakir- are you certain that there is nothing to be done? Do you know at least that he is safe, if he is truly among the Jinn now?"

"It is..." started the Imam. "Well, many things are said. But no one knows, really. I am truly, deeply sorry, my friend. I do not know. He is, as always, in the hands of Allat, Mother of All."

Adara had broken into sobbing again, and her father had taken her trembling body into his arms. He stroked her head with his right hand- she, now the last of his issue remaining to him.

"Thank you for seeing us today, Dhakir" said Yasser, quietly. Hamim noted that his voice cracked then, just a little.

-----------------------

The next dawn broke cool and dry, the only sound beyond the cock's crow being the restlessness of the camels, and the whipping of an early wind; forecasting a blustery day ahead.

As usual, Adara awoke early and prepared breakfast for her Father. She was to go to the well and the market that day and, also as usual, Hamim was to go with her as well- as her helper and protector.

As they set upon the road, however, she said to Hamim:

"Let us go north first, to see Lacan."

Now, the man called Lacan was an old man, blind in one eye, who was known as a hermit (though nowadays he lived with a young ward, said to be his nephew). He was also a scribe, and known to be scholar; very learned, it was said - maybe as much as the Imam himself.

It was also whispered in low tones- usually among the older folk- that he was not a scribe and a scholar only; it was murmured among those that murmur that he was also Magi- a wizard!

Hamim looked over at Adara, but she would not meet his gaze.

"Mistress" he said, imploring.

"I won't give up on him, Hamim. I won't!" she said, still facing forward. "A thousand Imams can tell me a thousand times no first. I will find him, if it takes all my life to do so."

Life had taught Hamim humility, and the futility of arguing with his Mistress when her mind was set to a task. So he simply said to her:

"Very well, but please cover your face; the wind is moving the sand much today."

---------------------------

End Part 2
Continued in Part 3
Part 1
Part 4

Story Time: Hall of the Mountain Lord pt 1

I think that at some level every GM imagines himself or herself a writer (which maybe should be the subject of another article...). If this is true, then this poster certainly is no exception.  

Submitted for your enjoyment is part one of my short story-in-progress, The Hall of The Mountain Lord.

It is said that in the days before the Prophetess - Peace Be Upon Her Name - that in the city of Ur there was a scholar that kept a daemon which he had trapped - or at the very least, had become trapped - within a bottle. 

Now this scholar had a young apprentice, whom he had sternly instructed never to speak to this daemon, lest the creature lead him into peril. 

But the apprentice, being a young man and inherently curious- why become a scholar otherwise?- eventually ignored his master's order and began conversing with the creature whenever his master was away. 

This daemon told the young man of all sorts of wonders- of midworld before The Fall, of the mirror world of the spirits, and of the jinn, marid, dragons(!), and of all manner of beasts common and uncommon throughout the worlds. 

The young man thrilled to the tiny creature's many tales and anecdotes. One day, he asked the daemon: 

"What is it like living only within a bottle?" 

To which the daemon replied, shrugging it's tiny shoulders: 

"One has to live somewhere, I suppose." 

"So then- have you always lived in a bottle?" asked the young scholar. 

"Oh no!" said the daemon. "No, young one. I have seen many worlds, and much of yours as well."

"I have wondered at the halls of the Ymir; vast and forbidding- I have gazed upon the sunrise from atop the great ziggurat- now destroyed- called Etemnananki. I have been to the very depths of hell- and felt the cold, cold - oh-so very cold!- touch of the Black Flame within. I have seen generations of your own kind pass in both wisdom and folly."

"I have done and seen so very much, my companion, before you have found me here." 

The youth stood in silence for a moment; then he spoke, in tones of awe:  

"You have been to so many places, and seen so many things, little daemon. Where as I have barely been outside the walls of this city." 

"Well," asked the daemon "then what can I tell you about living within a bottle that you do not already know?"

- From the 1001 Tales, library of Madinat as-Salam

 

Hall of The Mountain Lord

by Michael Lindsey

The sun was starting to set over the Zagros Mountains to the east, when Hamim suggested that they make camp in the shadow of a rocky hill.

Hamim was but a servant of her household; but Adara, his young mistress, had come to trust in his cautious ways. Plus, she was traveling with her little brother Shamal, and the day's journey had clearly been taxing on his young form.

So they broke and set up their tents (Adara and Shamal each had their own tent- even though brother and sister, a boy and girl would not share a tent). Hamim, as usual, was to sleep beneath the stars.

Hamim cooked them their supper- simple rice with a hint of butter, very lightly spiced for flavor, and brewing a pot of chai as well- a veritable feast in the wilderness. All three youngsters ate to their fill with relish.

Adara sipped the hot chai slowly; enjoying the strong, spicy flavor. She had just recently reached her 15th year; marriage-age, by any estimation - but her father had not found any favor with the suitors that had reached his tent, at least thus far.

But she was a lovely girl; her skin fair, and without blemish. Although her habib covered her long, luxurious black head of hair, her dark eyes and her lovely mouth could be seen by all who gazed upon her.

For his part, her younger brother Shamal shared her beauty, but in boyish form; he was now just in his 11th year, and had the mixture of uncertainty and rambunctiousness common to most boys his age. Regardless of any faults he might have, Adara adored the boy above all of the jewels in all of the Earth.

Hamim was sixteen, and had the gangliness of boy who had grown very tall, very fast. He himself was of dark complexion with light brown eyes and a thin mouth, which seemed locked into a permanent frown. Ever present with him was his shepherd's staff, which he used as both a tool and a walking stick. Somehow, the staff and his demeanor seemed to give him a certain authority that belied his station.

The three ate in silence, only the sound of their feasting rising above the crackling of the fire. The rich dinner and the drink had given life back to Shamal, it seemed; for after their meal was finished, and as the moon rose into the sky, he said unto Hamim:

"Hamim- let's fight!"

He continued, "I can be Antarah ibn Shaddad, and you can be a wicked Ifrit!"

"Young Master" said Hamim, "We have had a long journey. Perhaps it would be better if we all would rest?"

Then Adara suggested: "Maybe Hamim should be the brave warrior, and you the Ifrit instead?"

Shamal frowned, his full little lips making a perfect pout, and replied: "I want to be Antarah ibn Shaddad! Fight me Hamim!"

Hamim sighed, and said: "Very well. Grab a stick- but be careful. This is just for pretend."

"OK!" said the boy, with enthusiasm. He grabbed a stick from their pack that seemed suitable; light enough to wield, and it made a satisfying 'swish' sound when he swung it forcefully through the air.

Hamim held his staff in the defending position, waiting for the boy to make the first move. Shamal, however, would have none of this, and declared:

"You are the villain- you have to attack first!"

Hamim swung the stick with speed, but carefully telegraphed the blow so that his young opponent could easily defend against it. Shamal blocked the faux-attack, and shouted:

"I see that you attack me, foul beast! Prepare thyself for my vengeance!"

Shamal began swinging his stick swiftly, wildly - Hamim blocking every strike with minimal effort. Seeing an opening, Hamim struck the boy, lightly- so light that it could barely be felt- on his left arm.

Shamal cried out: "Foul, foul, treacherous creature! Thou hast wounded me; but I shall best thee still!"

Shamal then began a full assault, lashing out with full force; blow after blow being blocked by Hamim's skilled staff. This seemed to only anger his youthful rival, and Shamal resorted to swift and random hits; now high, now low, now in Hamim's midsection.

At last, Hamim blocked one of Shamal's attempted assaults; but Shamal's polished wooden staff slipped past the block, and struck Hamim in the face; hard. Shamal looked at Hamim in shock and awe for a moment- then a warm trickle of blood began to run down Hamim's cheek.

"Oh!" said Adara, seeing that Hamim had been struck. Then she saw the blood.

"My word!" swore Adara, unwrapping the scarf that she wore upon her neck, and pressing it against Hamim's now bleeding cheek. "Shamal, what have you done?"

Shamal stood now silent, frozen in place with the stick still in his hand.

"My lady" said Hamim, blushing beneath his dark pallor as Adara, his mistress, stood so close- her hand upon his cheek - "this is nothing. Please..."

"Shamal!" said Adara, "Apologize to Hamim! Is this how you treat a servant of our house, who has done us no wrong?"

Shamal stood still -frozen, but tears began to roll down his plump cheeks. "I didn't mean to... we were playing..." he said.

"Playing?" she asked "I saw you- you wanted to strike Hamim! This is not how we have raised you, brother."

"I'm..." the boy began blubbering now in earnest. "I'm sorry! We were playing! It was an accident!"

"Milady" said Hamim, taking the scarf from Adara's hand, the blood still in his face, her scarf now dyed red with the same. "I will be fine. Please- see the young master to bed. I will treat this little, minor wound myself. Thank you for your kindness; I am hardly worthy of it."

"No- thank you Hamim" said Adara. She touched her servant, briefly, but tenderly, on his shoulder. "Please do take care of your wound."

Then to Shamal she said: "Brother- let's see you to bed now. We have had a long day." She then kissed the young boy on his forehead, and watched as he made his way to his little tent, and hopefully soon after - slumber.

Adara asked after Hamim, who again insisted that all was well, while holding a rugged cloth to his face to soak up the blood from the still weeping gash.

"Please- do take your rest, milady" he insisted. "I myself cannot sleep until I know that you are also in the land of nod. Tomorrow we must start out early, before the heat of the day is upon us", he reminded.

"Alright" said Adara. "Thank you, Hamim."

"You embarrass me" said Hamim, truthfully. "Please rest well." He then saw her to her tent, careful not to gaze upon her as she entered. He lowered the flap behind her, and then walked back to the fire.

When he was sure that the bleeding had finally stopped, he crawled into his own bedroll and fell asleep beneath the stars.

-------------------

Shamal heard the tinkling of a bell.

He was sure that's what it was; although he was in darkness, and the sound was heard from so very far away, it was clearly a bell. A bell that he was meant to hear.

Rubbing his sleep-crusted eyes, Shamal emerged from his tent. The moon was full in the sky; illuminating the desert with a bluish light. Shamal then looked upon the face of the moon itself; so bright and beautiful in the sky. The Imam taught that this was the manifestation of Destruction; Shamal wasn't sure about that, really. He thought that the Moon was very lovely, himself.

He looked over the horizon. Somehow, even asleep and in darkness, he had known what was the source of the sound. The rock, over yonder; standing like a temple- like some primitive mosque- in the moonlight.

The bell tinkled again in the distance- calling him, summoning him over. The sound was- it was- like the moonlight itself? Shamal could not describe it, even if asked to do so. He looked over at his sister's tent, at Hamim's bedroll, looking like just a clump of cloth beneath the stars. Clearly neither one had heard the call. It was for he alone.

Again the sound! He felt it in his breast, if not in his ears. Like the Call to Prayer, but stronger; pre-verbal.

The light of the moon marked the path. He set out in the cool night air towards the rock, towards the summoning tinkle.

Climbing now- climbing over the rocks, over the sand, over every minor barrier - following the tone of the bell; louder and louder still it rang.

He now stood atop the embankment and looked back towards the camp, now yards away; the campfire a fading, a flickering light in the distance. He thought of his sister now, and a little pain formed in his heart. He knew not why.

Then he turned about. The moon seemed to make a line in the rock- to form a path- and a door appeared before him; a door of moonlight, pale and blue and mysterious.

And still the bell rang; it's source now obvious; it rang now from within the stone itself. Beyond the glowing door.

He looked back toward's the camp, one last time. He thought of Hamim; serious, bloody. And his sister- so beautiful- and so angry.

The bell continued to ring, impatient. Shamal walked towards the light.

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End Part 1
Continued in Part 2
Part 3
Part 4