Gilgul E-Book

Eva Windegger

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

After breaking with his family, Brendan joins a troop of desert warriors. Under Bey’s leadership he has to cope not only with the imminent dangers of the trip. As soon as he reaches the foreign medina he has to adapt to the customs of a community who call themselves the Imajeren, the Free People.

Brendan finds himself not only faced with a confusing mix of reactions to his presence. There’s still a problem to be solved, back at the Traders’ place.

And Bey? Are the warrior’s ambitions as honest as Brendan expected when they first met?

The literal translation for the Hebrew word Gilgul means cycle. In a wider sense it is interpreted as a recurring, generation spanning circle of human growth.

“If you love strong characters, charismatic men and beautiful horses, Gilgul is the right choice.”

Leseprobe

Eva Windegger

Gilgul

Desert Oneway

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

About the book

After breaking with his family Brendan joins a troop of desert warriors. Under Bey’s leadership he has to cope with the imminent dangers of the trip, with the animosity of his new companions and he has to adapt to foreign customs. His thoughts keep wandering back to his past and lost home. 

And Bey? Are his intentions as friendly as they seemed to be when they first met?

About the author

No adventure story was safe from E. C. Windegger during childhood. Given time, the literary horizon widened but the love for swords and horses, heroes and history remained.

Since there was no book matching all the ingredients of the perfect story there was the need to write one.

Titel

Gilgul

E. C. Windegger

List of foreign words

List of foreign words (in order of appearance)

Magudu                                  caravan leader

Mehari                                    dromedary

Shacharit                                Jewish morning prayer

maa ismak?                             What’s your name?               

Litham                                    traditional face-veil (Arabic term)

Medina                                   town

Shokran                                  thank you

Calabash                                 bottle gourd

Gerba                                     waterskin made of goat leather

Gandura                                 long, wide robe

Imouhar                                 „free people“  - term the Tuareg use for themselves

Imajeren                                plural for Imouhar

Takomert                               goat cheese

Tagelmust                              traditional face-veil (Tamashek word)

Tamashek                              Tuareg language

Amenokal                               spiritual leader of the Imajeren

Hamada                                 stone desert

Erg                                        sand desert

Taglahmt                                annual travel to the salt fields

Wadi                                      dry river bed

Sadequee                               friend

Ibnee                                     son

Sabbah al khayr                      good morning

Prologue

Prologue

Gilgul. The soul is immortal and ever lasting. Human existence begins with a swirling vortex of the raw materials of the world, it’s a product of energy and matter. Vulnerable and helpless, dependant to be nourished and protected, a life starts. Yet, the potential to become all knowing is being planted into the depths of the human mind as the seed is planted into soil. To gain access to that collective source of knowledge is the target of life’s journey.

Now, in the autumn of my years, I understand my forefathers’ beliefs. I’m spending my days according to their advice. I’m old, the Imajeren call me wise. But there’s no visible sign of all-knowing in my appearance. No halo around my head, no godlike sparkle in my gaze. The reflection shows a wizened man. I’m moving towards the end of my life. My heart is light for my task is done.

The sheath made of leather has obtained body warmth. I’ve been holding it in my hands so long. A wooden plug must do because the locket went with Benjamin. I find it hard to part from it. How long will it harbor my legacy? For how many generations? I would give a lot for a glimpse into the future.

This scroll shall be a pool of knowledge for others to come. My testimonial shall be a source of energy and faith.

Book One

 Book One

1

Chapter 1

Against the setting sun, Bey cantered his horse across the desert. Man and beast made one creature of passion and power. Brendan wondered how it would be like to run with them and share the pleasure of being unfettered for once in his life.

As the sun passed the horizon, he crept closer to the group of men. The top of the sand dune concealed him from their direct line of vision. His teeth were clattering from cold. But he considered it better to stay cold and hidden than to get warm and risk being sent away. They never seemed exactly thrilled to see him.

The fire flamed up high. Sparks emitted and seemed to become part of the star-littered sky. Lying on the ground in the rapidly cooling sand, Brendan listened to the rhythm of their drums. The dull ache in his guts grew stronger as he watched Bey’s men moving against the fire. Brendan slid back on his dune and rolled over.

What he had witnessed within those last weeks was a sharp contrast to everything he knew. Heads were close together in a most intimate fashion and bodies made contact as they discussed serious and trivial matters.

It was past midnight when he skidded down the dune, too late to talk with his uncle and father. Meeting them to report what had happened during the day was never a pleasurable experience. Brendan dreaded it even more when he didn’t have anything new to tell.

***

Alchassoum drew from his pipe and stared into the darkness. The fire had burned down to a faint glow. “The Trader,” he said. “He’s watching us.”

“Where?” Ramon’s eyes narrowed to slits as he tried to recognize the shape of the landscape that lay beyond their camp.

Bey came back and threw dried camel dung into the glow. Small flames licked the material and brought their fire to new life. Al inhaled deeply then blew out through his nose. He looked at Bey questioningly.

“He was already gone,” said Bey.

“Who? The Trader? Don’t tell me you’ve been after him.” Ramon drummed his fingers on his knee.

“Should I have asked your permission?”

“Not permission but opinion. Doesn’t fit you very well, panting after him.”

Displeased with their bickering, Alchassoum tried to interfere, “Why don’t you use your brains for more important matters? Like how we’re going to get home?”

“None of my business,” Ramon said. “I’m not the magudu.”

“’Course not. You’ll never become caravan-leader if you won’t change," said Bey. “You avoid the company of the group but take advantage of it. The one and only person you really care for is yourself.”

“I only care for myself, eh?” Ramon snarled. “I fought for our tribe at a time you were nothing but unshed seed of your father’s loins.”

“Hey!” Alchassoum held a hand up. “You deal with me if you have a problem with your position within the taglahmt, Ramon. And if you doubt my skill go and ask Sidi for the job. I’d much rather spend next season with my grandchild instead of freezing my ass sitting on a camel.” He exhaled a stream of smoke and watched it dissipate. “So, do we take the horses or the meharis?”

“We’re late this year,” said Ramon. “There’s only one fountain from the Erg of Tanout to Arali’s oasis.”

“Your opinion, Al?” demanded Bey.

“Our journey will be on a knife’s edge.” Al bent forward and beat the ash out of his pipe on a flat stone, then wiped it clean with a fold of his robe. “I’d prefer the horses though. I don’t want to look after the meharis for the next few months. You know how far they wander even with their feet hobbled. Other than that, I’m going to stay in the Stronghold next winter. I want to do the leather-works I promised Omar and maybe let my mare mate with one of Malachi's stallions.”

Bey nodded. “Very well. It’s the horses then.”

“When do you want to leave?” Ramon pawed his beard.

“Tomorrow’s too early.” Bey glanced at the sleeping men. “None of them is prepared. I’d say we leave the day after tomorrow. Early morning.”

***

“Brendan, wake up!” Tanin nudged him hard. “You must be crazy, arriving past midnight. As if you wouldn’t want to come home at all.”

Brendan rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Are you afraid that you’re going to catch the brunt of uncle’s anger if I mess up the mission?” He gave his brother a hard look.

“Hurry up. We’re already very late.”

When they came to the gathering house the male members of the Clan had already assembled to hear some part of the Old Knowledge. There was a different section each day before the series began to repeat. Endlessly, relentlessly, the Elders ground the words into their brains. The session began with a quote to inspire them to meditate on the true way during their chores and prayers.

“Anwar, begin with the shacharit,” ordered Uncle Joshua as soon as Brendan and Tanin entered.

Brendan’s father stepped forward to repeat some of the rules that had guided their lives for generations. "A man whose wisdom exceeds his good deeds is likened to a tree whose branches are numerous, but whose roots are few. Easily the wind uproots it and turns it upside down. But a person whose good deeds exceed his wisdom is likened to a tree with strong roots. Even if all storms of the world were to come and blow against it, they could not budge it from its place."

“Lord, we give our thanks to being given the privilege of listening to your prophecy,” Joshua said. There was a low murmur as everybody repeated the words after him. “Tanin, will you please explain how this is to be understood?”

Tanin. Of course. The chosen one. An odd sickness bit Brendan’s heart.

“Full branches are to be understood as a synonym for a big estate or any kind of wealth which means, a person can appear successful on the outside. But if the roots are few, life can send challenges that are impossible to withstand.” Tanin cleared his throat. "One person alone is vulnerable to trends and fads. But if a person is connected to community and heritage, no wind on earth can move it from its place."

Tanin was honored with a pleased smile then Joshua spoke, “Humans require a strong home base, where values and morals are absorbed. In a world rife with negativity, we need a filter. Our community provides an impervious shield, the soil, where we can be ourselves. Anwar, please continue.”

"Our culture must remain pure and untainted by the ways of others,” Brendan’s father carried on. ”We must not allow our identity as a tribe of the Chosen People to be sullied. We must defend our way of things against intruders of any kind.” Brendan felt himself caught in his father’s gaze. “We must be very careful in these times. Infiltration starts with small steps with minute concessions until, one day, we wake and find that we exist no more. We are strangers in a strange land and must keep clean and pure. We may need the help of strangers but we must not take up their ways."

Brendan had never dared to question these ritual demands aloud. Sometimes, he wondered if his father shared some of his doubts and questions or had at least asked the same things when he was young. Anwar often displayed an uncanny knack for using quotes from the Book of Knowledge that counteracted the direction Brendan’s thoughts were taking. This morning Brendan took the quote to be a hidden warning from his father. He should watch his step around the Barbarians. The best way to remain pure was to have little contact with anyone.

“Lord, we give our thanks for being the Chosen Ones to receive your truth and follow the Right Path. Lord, we give our thanks for being made in your male image and not being burdened by the form of a weak and easily confused vessel. Lord, we give our thanks for being destined to preserve and protect the Divine Truths with which we have been entrusted.”

The entire group mumbled the three benedictions that closed the gathering.

“Brendan, wait!” His father’s voice stopped him in his tracks as he tried to dive into the crowd and get out of the gathering house unnoticed by his family. Brendan cursed himself that he hadn’t reacted faster. He watched the other men and boys leave through the wide open door.

“What hindered you from making it home in time to report yesterday?” Anwar crossed his arms before his chest.

Brendan’s gaze skimmed through the room to check if there were witnesses.

“You could, I suppose, at least face me when I’m talking to you.”

Brendan clenched is jaw.

“Well.” His father’s lips twitched with displeasure. “You better get that arrogant look off your face and clean yourself, then come to Joshua’s house to report. I suggest you have a good reason for your absence.”

***

His father’s house was one of the few that had its own fountain in the inner court. The long side of the building, the window-less wall of their neighbor’s stable and the back of the washing house enclosed a small yard, leaving only a small street-sided portal for public entrance. In less than an hour this would be a busy place. Women of the entire settlement met here to wash then dry their laundry on the zigzag taut cloth-lines. Brendan quickly sluiced down, shook like a wet dog then grabbed his shirt.

“You’re still wet. Give me your towel.”

With a start he turned. “Marjam!”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “No one’s here but us.”

“Wouldn’t bet on it.” Brendan looked about cautiously and slid his arms into the sleeves.

Marjam grabbed the towel and rubbed his back dry with the rough cloth. “Done.”

He pulled the shirt over his head.

“You’re wondering why I’m here.” Marjam folded the towel with care and placed it on the edge of the fountain. Her body was tense, belying her calm voice. She looked him in the eyes. “I’m in trouble.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Samuel. I’m afraid he’s going to find out. About us.” Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “You should never have agreed. Imagine, it could take after you!”

Brendan creased his brows. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m pregnant. I thought … I hoped I would lose it like so many of our women have lately. But mother thinks I’m going to keep it since it’s the fourth month now.”

“You’re pregnant?” He combed his fingers through his wet hair, trying to make head or tail from what she was saying. “And you hoped you would miscarry?”

“What shall we do?”

Brendan felt somewhat helpless. “I don’t know.”

“You’re not very helpful.”

“What? No. I mean …” He frowned. “What do you expect me to do?”

She straightened. “You could, in the least, consider that you were involved.”

“Marjam, you married Samuel.”

She stood perfectly still, radiating disbelief. “But you are the father!”

Brendan felt a groan crawl up his throat. He felt overwhelmed, edgy. “Samuel could also be the father, couldn’t he?”

“Is that all that comes to your mind? That you have a fifty-fifty chance?”

“No! Good Lord,” he said. “You make it sound as if I had no sense of responsibility.” He glanced about, afraid, that someone could listen, and lowered his voice. “But it could be his, couldn’t it? Besides, it wasn’t my idea.” Something in his chest curled painfully. “You persuaded me.”

“Are you saying that my feelings for you weren’t honest?” Marjam tugged at his clothes like a child then buried her face in the folds of his shirt.

“Marjam, don’t cry.” The last time he had tried to be reasonable she had thought he was disgusted by her sexuality. It could be so good with the both of us. He had never considered that he might have caused a pregnancy. “You must talk to Samuel.” Awkwardly, he put his arms around her. “You’re not doing well keeping secrets. He’ll know that there’s something you’re trying to hide.”

 “I don’t think that the child will take after you,” Marjam said. She chewed a strand of her hair. “The entire family is dark haired. Your looks must be a trick of nature or something. Little chance that it would happen again.” She sounded pretty convincing. “I’m right, am I not? Samuel must never know.”

“So much luck doesn’t exist,” said Brendan.

“I won’t tell him.” Marjam’s eyes swam in tears. “And you mustn’t, either.”

“Actually, I considered talking to him the evening before the wedding.”

“What?” Marjam stared at him with horror.

“I thought, how’s she going to explain the missing stain on the sheet of her wedding bed? What’s she going to tell him if he finds out that his bride isn’t untouched while the family’s literally gathered in the other room? I thought I could spare you the humiliation.”

Her eyes became big. “But you didn’t.”

Brendan pulled a face. “No. I didn’t.”

She dried her face with the sleeve of her robe. “I shouldn’t have talked you into it.”

“Wasn’t all that hard, was it.” Miserably, he rolled up his sleeves. His gaze trailed over her body, the slight bulge of her tummy. All of their future unwrapped in this moment. Brendan felt sick. “He’s going to kill me.”

Who? Samuel?”

“No! Your father!” Brendan cried out. “I need to go to report to him by the way. I’m already too late.”

“I didn’t mean to keep you from getting there in time.” She sniveled.

“Marjam. Don’t cry. Please. I can’t stand it.” With his chin he pointed at her stomach. “Do you feel it? Could … could I feel it?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

Brendan felt as if his chest was being ripped apart. He must do or say anything, make a decision. Claim his child. Marjam leaned into him and kissed him softly. “I don’t know whether I would prefer you or Samuel being the father of my baby. I guess it’d be less trouble if it would be Samuel.”

He stared at her, annoyed. “Why have you even bothered to tell me if you already made your decision?” She could be such a cunning little bitch. “Pray that it’s favoring you,” he said finally. “If it gets my looks,” he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I have to live with the fact that I ruined your life.”

***

“How dare you cause us wait again?”

Brendan found himself caught in Joshua’s glare. He slid into the room and backed against the wall.

“Step forward.”

Reluctantly, Brendan obeyed.

"We are concerned”, Joshua said. “There is a budding problem that needs to be addressed within our family before it is taken to the Elders. It has been suggested that you are spending an unseemly amount of time in the company of one of the Infidels.”

“You sent someone after me? Why don’t you do the job yourself if you have no faith?” Brendan threw a sideways glance at his brother. The look caused Tanin to step aside to stand behind Joshua.

“The man’s called Bey,” Brendan said. “He seems to be in a high position within their Clan. I didn’t get the chance to be introduced to him but I’m trying hard.”

“Keep in mind that you are dealing with an infidel. You are not allowed to share our secrets.”

“What do I know about our Clan’s secrets?” Brendan scoffed. “I don’t even know what kind of information you want me to gather. How can I fulfill my task to your satisfaction when I’m not told what the exact purpose of the mission is about?”

“I taught you all you need.” Tanin’s voice sounded from behind Joshua.

“Why don’t you move your ass from behind Uncle’s robes, brother.”

Joshua’s face reddened with anger. “I don’t tolerate such speech in my house, Brendan. Tell me, what is your plan with that Barbarian?”

“I am going to seek information about their history and the lands they inhabit.” Brendan toyed with the strings of his shirt. “I’ll try to find out how far they go when they travel and if there are other people of our kind.”

Joshua crossed his arms before his chest. “That man will share his knowledge once you are introduced? You speak as if it would be easy to achieve.”

“Not when I’m wasting time answering stupid questions.”

The silence that settled in the room was uncomfortable.

“Have you decided to abandon the mission?” Brendan asked.

“I am taking it into consideration. But I will give you a last chance to prove your loyalty.” There was something in his uncle’s tone that frightened him. It was like dealing with a poisonous serpent ready to dig its fangs into his flesh. “You will not reveal our traditions or any information about our Clan. You will find out if the rumors that they are coming from the same lands as our ancestors are true. And I must know how to get there."

 ***

“Brendan, wait!” Panting, his father caught up with him. Anwar put his hand on Brendan’s shoulder. “I need to ask you something. You’re coming home later every day. They’re treating you all right, don’t they?”

Cautiously, Brendan averted his eyes, “They are Barbarians. Infidels.”

“Yes. That’s what the Elders tell us.” His father combed a strand of blond hair out of Brendan’s face. “The more we discuss your hair the worse it grows.” His smile faded. “Brendan, are you accepted by those people? Do they like you?”

Brendan shrugged. “Why?”

“I thought you would …”, he said at length, “You might consider staying with them.”

His father’s words hit like a punch. “Are you suggesting that I’d better be gone from your house?”

“Of course not.” Anwar sighed. “But I have a weird feeling about Joshua.”

For a moment, Brendan thought about his own doubts but shoved them quickly into the back of his mind. “He’s giving me a chance to show my qualities.”

“I know my brother. Joshua’s intentions aren’t honest.” His father stepped closer. “You are either to stay there, with the Barbarians or you must give up this task immediately. I’d rather see you chosing the latter. Come back with me, Brendan.”

“I won’t.” Irritated, Brendan shook his head.

“I am your father. I know what’s best for you.”

“The time you were responsible for me is over.”

“You are not of age yet.”

“Not yet but I will be in a few weeks. I already had my ceremony.” Obstinately, Brendan pulled his shirt open. His fist closed around the amulet he had been given. “The Elders think me man enough to get this done. Why can’t you believe in me or at least trust their judgment.”

“You got the amulet because it’s your birth-right. It doesn’t mean that you’re a grown man. It took me some energy to persuade your uncle sticking to tradition, by the way.” Anwar raised his arms in the fervent try to find the right words. “Joshua’s putting your life at risk! Return with me now or don’t come back at all, Brendan. These are the odds.”

“I’m not the failure you try to make me believe!”

“I never called you that.” His father’s voice was weak.

“Not with words, no.” Brendan felt the blood leave his face. His eyes stung. “I always hoped that I, that you ...” Brendan swallowed hard. “Ah, just leave it!” He turned and quickened his pace. Ignoring his father’s objection, Brendan ran until his lungs began to burn. The sun was climbing to its zenith. Within a few minutes his shirt was soaked with sweat. In less than an hour he reached the mountain crest. He had never been so quick. He had never been so upset. Yet, even now he stopped for a moment and looked at the landscape below.

Kuna, an elderly woman, had once offered him the shelter of her house during a sandstorm. He had sat on a carpet with a pillow in his back and a half-naked little boy between his thighs while the storm had howled outside and the air had been thick and yellow from whirled up sand.

The desert-dshinnies lived in the Adrar-jabal, the mountain. As they rode the winds and the clouds one could hear their laughter. One must take care of the little children when the ghosts were up to mischief. That afternoon, Kuna had made a gri gri for him, a talisman, to protect him on his way.

Brendan stood still and stared at the horizon. The sun was strong by now. He couldn’t tell where exactly land parted from sky. Bey would be able to tell him what lay beyond those dunes. If he just managed to talk to him! The warrior had a commanding presence and his dark appeal ensured that he was rarely alone. There was something strange, tight, subtly suggestive around the man. Only inhaling the same air was like breaking each of his uncle’s rules.

***

2

Chapter 2

“He’s back.” Bey nudged him hard.

“Ouch! Be careful!” With a quiet curse Alchassoum pulled the needle out of his palm and lowered the leaking water gerba he was repairing to his lap. He sucked the blood from the bleeding gash. “Who’s back? The Trader?”

“He’s arguing with Ramon to let him pass.” Bey grinned. “A deaf mehari would be easier to persuade.”

“The boy must’ve figured that we’re going to leave.” Alchassoum threw a sideways glance at Bey. “I need to get those patches finished before it’s too dark. And you better quit playing games. You’re too old for that.”

“Games?”

“Yesterday night you missed him by minutes, the entire morning you were pacing to and fro because he didn’t show up and now you pretend you’re not interested.” The distance was short enough to watch the Trader’s changing expressions as he tried to outfox Ramon to get closer. Whenever the youth made a sideways step, Ramon did the same. When he stepped forward, the warrior would pull his takuba out of its sheath. Suddenly, the young man bared his teeth with helpless fury and slammed his fist into the dirt block wall of the building beside him. Blood welled up and dripped from the torn skin. With odd satisfaction, the Trader watched it oozing into the hot sand.

“He’s a Trader. They usually cause problems,” said Bey.

“But that makes it even more interesting, doesn’t it?” Al knotted the thread and bit it off.

“There’s no need to back me up.” Bey rose. “Do me the favor and call Ramon back. I’m to be found at Sidi’s place if anyone needs me.”

***

The pain in his hand eased but the burning ache in his guts grew worse as Brendan watched the warriors packing their stuff. Slowly, his anger changed into silent despair. Bey had left the camp a while ago but Brendan hadn’t moved to follow. He had spent enough time trailing behind the man like an idiot.

It was evening but it was still hot. Brendan arched his head back against the stony wall of the building in the hope of leaching some of the heat out of his aching body. Closing his eyes he faced into the desert wind.

“Ajuan.”

“Matolam.” Lazily Brendan squinted at the dark robed figure. It took him a while to realize that it was the desired person. Bey was alone for once. Brendan scrambled to his feet and started toward him, determined to begin and complete one conversation at last. The warrior stood still until Brendan was within touching distance, then glided backwards teasingly, just out of reach.

Something deep inside him must have snapped at the very playfulness of the gesture because all of a sudden he found himself body to body with Bey. His world narrowed down to the sight of his fists clenched in the front of the man’s robe. “You have to listen to me. This is important”, he said.

“For whom?”

Bey’s face was hidden by their traditional litham but Brendan could define the twinkle in the warrior’s eyes. Amusement or arrogance or a bit of both. Curiosity was also part of the spectrum. There was no way of letting go without getting mauled. Locking his elbows, he kept a hold. “Important for me … us.” He groped for words, “I can’t speak your language well but I can understand some of your …” His face contorted with the effort to find the correct word. “Legends. Our Elders believe that we come from the same lands.”

“I understand the Trader’s tongue. Use that instead. Maa ismak?” Bey asked. “Your name, how are you called?”

“Brendan.”

“I am Bey. Introduction before starting a conversation, is it not custom where you come from, Brendan?”

“I beg your pardon if I neglected your customs. It’s not my intention to be rude.”

“No?” The warrior glanced down at the white knuckled hands. Brendan felt the color work up its way to his cheeks. He squinted when Bey raised his hand but his fingers clenched even tighter into the fabric. He felt a soft tickle as the man trailed his hand down Brendan’s throat. Bey ran his fingers over the plain surface of the golden necklace and finally revealed the amulet that was attached to it. “This token is very old. Has it something to do with your visit?”

“No … yes.” Brendan chewed his lower lip. “I don’t know.”

“Why are you here?”

“Bethren. I know that word from some of your stories. It’s a place, somewhere you go to, isn’t it? The land of our ancestors that we’re searching for … since … I don’t know … for an eternity.” Brendan forced himself to focus. “I’ve been sent to get information about it.”

Bey placed the artifact back on Brendan’s chest.

“I thought we could exchange our knowledge, pool it, so we will both profit.”

“You thought so, indeed.”

There was it again, that subtle, mocking tone. Slightly confused, Brendan eased the hold.

“I doubt you can tell me anything new. It is common knowledge that your Clan and mine were once connected,” said Bey. “But I wonder when and where your people got hold of this.” He pointed at the medallion. “You aren’t allowed to show it, Brendan?”

Brendan swallowed nervously.

Bey tilted his head. “It could so easily fall into the wrong hands.”

Brendan’s mind was in turmoil.

“Usually, the Traders are very concerned about giving information away.” Bey made a casual gesture. “You must be of high heritage if you are the bearer of such an important thing. They must have great trust in you.”

Brendan averted his eyes. “Many artifacts have been lost as my folk was forced out of lands where they tried to settle.”

“They teach you that?” Bey’s smirk was undeniable despite the veil before his face.

“The Elders are adamant about staying pure. We need to take care not to lose what little we managed to retain.” Frustrated about Bey’s mockery, Brendan gave the man a push.

Bey raised his brows. “You have my interest. It will be more comfortable to continue this conversation in my private area.”

Brendan nodded with agreement.

“Your elbows are very tight, they must ache by now. You better curve them.” Gently, Bey flexed Brendan’s arm. “Like this.”

***

3

Chapter 3

“The boy needs to be slapped into shape,” demanded Joshua.

“One needs diplomatic skills and a lot of experience.” Anwar tried for peace. “You sent Brendan on a mission he can’t do anything but fail.” It had always been this way. His life found its repetition in Brendan’s and there was nothing he could do about it. Second born sons were taught only the bare minimum as if that was all they were capable of understanding. It was nothing overt, just comments and criticisms that discouraged them from striving to be more.

He remembered several times Brendan had tried to convince his uncle to include him in his lessons for Tanin. The questions and comments Joshua had fired at the kid as he tested Brendan's suitability to learn never failed to put the boy's back up and eventually lead him to lose his temper. He not only lost his chance to be included in the private lessons but had to endure difficult punishments to prove that he was penitent for not following the prescribed path and questioning the wisdom of his Elders.

At least Brendan had tried to break free. That was nothing he could say of himself. “He’s your nephew just like Tanin. Why can’t you treat them equally?”

“They aren’t equal. There’s too much of his mother’s blood running through Brendan’s veins. Don’t misunderstand me.” Joshua raised a hand. “I do not blame him. The ways of the Lord are inscrutable and we cannot make the failure undone. But we can deal with the results.” He creased his brows thinking. “I wonder how long it will take until his streak of luck ends.”

“The mission is a trap.” Anwar leaned back against the pillar that held the roof. “I knew it.”

Joshua eyed him with contempt. “Get a grip on yourself brother.”

***

The place was littered with packs and blankets, piles of clothes, pots and tent-poles. Bey’s big gathering tent was the only one remaining. Brendan had sworn to himself that he would stick out his tongue at the big man with the crooked sword who had given him such a hard time before. But now he reckoned it was better to just suck it up and duck his head and show manners by lowering his eyes. Bey parted the heavy curtains and entered the tent. Brendan followed.

The tent wasn’t high enough to allow a man to stand in it. Casually, Bey kicked one of the bigger cushions into place, gathered his robe and sat down. The warrior motioned him to do the same, then pulled away his litham. Brendan occupied himself by looking for a seat. He thought it impolite to stare into the face he got to see uncovered for the first time. The carpet, indigo-blue colored like some of the robes, had a yellowish-green cast to it from the desert sand the men had brought in. Being not used to sitting on cushions, Brendan sat down on the carpet.

“We shall start to pool our knowledge.” The determination in Bey’s tone made Brendan look up with unease. He met a pair of watchful, dark eyes in a stern, angular face. The man’s lips, surrounded by a well trimmed, short beard, twitched into a faint smile. “You said you listened to our legends. Where was that?”

“In the medina.”

“You passed the guards?”

Brendan’s heart began to race at Bey’s changing expression. It seemed as if the Barbarians weren’t allowed any more contact with strangers than was permitted by his own people. He didn't want to cause Kuna and her family trouble. “They would allow me to sit close enough so I could listen and watch.”

The warrior leaned back with a disappointed grunt. No matter where this conversation would be leading to, Brendan doubted there would be another chance to get into the medina unnoticed. Suddenly, he was still occupied with his thoughts, the sunlight that fell into the tent changed into crimson. He looked around with wonder.

Bey's features relaxed. “That’s the reason why I prefer an ehan made of straw instead of leather or goat-hair. The smell is better and the light is pleasant. We call it the red hour.”

“Can you tell me more about it? About distant lands?” Brendan grabbed his chance. “About what’s out there?”

“I thought you wanted to talk about important matters,” Bey gave back.

Brendan blushed with embarrassment and reminded himself to stay focused and be more cautious. He barely noticed one of Bey’s men entering the tent and startled when an oil lamp was set before him.

“Shokran, Offon.” Bey nodded at the young warrior.

Instead of moving back out, Offon fiddled with the wick of the lamp, nearly setting his turban on fire which had given up the battle against the force of gravity. Untidy black curls hung into the young man’s face and the nostrils of his broad nose fluttered like Bey’s stallion’s when he smelled a mare. Conspiratorially, he frowned at Brendan.

“Curiosity can kill a man.” Bey sounded irritated. “Is there anything you need?”

“Ramon said we’re going to eat soon.”

“I’ll eat later when I’m finished here. Tell him to leave my share.”

“All right.” Offon stuffed his loose hair under the wrappings of his turban and studied Brendan with interest.

“It was an order, not a request,” Bey snarled.

“Aiwa, of course.” Offon awkwardly moved backwards without breaking eye-contact. When the curtain fell close Brendan became aware of the tension Bey radiated. He sat in the lion’s den and the lion was definitely not in a good mood.

***

“Bey’s edgy and the stranger’s not much better,” Offon reported. He took a huge bite from his fresh tagella as if he had the urgent need to gag himself. He quickly managed to get as much space as possible between himself and the two men to avoid being further questioned.

“I could feel it in my bones that this was going to happen.” Ramon pawed his grey beard.

Alchassoum looked at Bey’s tent. “He’s dogged but not demanding like most. He’s just a curious boy.” He wasn’t sure whom he intended to fool, Ramon or himself.

Ramon snorted. “You think he’s coming on his own with no one pushing him our way? Give them one of your fingers and they bite off the whole hand. Their twisted brains are brooding over something. It’s dangerous when fools start to think.”

From the medina they could hear female voices. A group of girls approached. Each one carried a dish. “He doesn’t look as if he needs to be ordered to come.” Absentminded, Alchassoum drew patterns into the sand with his wooden spoon. “Bey has good instincts, always had.”

Ramon threw a piece of wood into the flames. “My instincts smell the start of a storm.”

***

“This discussion leads us nowhere.” The warrior was becoming annoyed with him and the conversation. Taking Joshua’s advice to heart, Brendan had managed to turn the tables and ask questions instead of giving answers whenever the topic seemed to become dangerous.