The Hidden Prophet
Prologue
Hedārz sensed they were coming for the thing he had stolen. There are many dangers to being a tomb thief, but sometimes you happen upon something that should never have been unburied. He clutched the thing to his chest as the karwan leader urged the camels into a closed circle to defy the djinn. Hedārz knew that the karwan would have little chance of surviving the attack. His fellow travellers were farmers with wives and children, Himyari refugees making their way north to the great Persian Empire. Few had skills with longblades or qalachūrs, and Himyar had long ago lost
the arts of fighting djinn.
He knew that they would have to learn quickly if they were to have even the slimmest of chances.
“Beware,”cried Hedārz, memories of the Empty Quarter’s djinn winds shuddering through him, “you must sever a ghūl with one stroke. If your blade doesn’t slice fully through, it will grow stronger.”
He fumbled through his camel’s side packs and pulled out a handful of djinn-warding amulets, and then threw them to those that stood fear-ridden around him.
“Here, place these under your robes,” he shouted.
The karwan leader nodded awkwardly as he accepted his talisman, not questioning why a Persian would know so much about djinn.
“Remember,” said Hedārz, “an ifrit will always attempt to enter you through your nostrils. Keep your noses covered with your kaffiyehs. And if your friend turns on you mid-battle, you must kill him for an ifrit will have possessed his soul.”
The winds swirled just beyond the karwan circle, stones and grains of sand danced a malicious dance beyond the travellers’ huddle.
“And fight in silence,” he shouted. “Lower djinn are strengthened by the sound of the voices of children of Adam.”
Grotesque faces took shape in the tumult, inhuman faces fevered with inhuman leers. A disembodied hand shot out from the confusion like a striking snake, and Hedārz flashed his longblade through the wrist, a bright flame issuing from the wound.
With the drawing of first fire, the djinn onslaught began in earnest. Conjure-tipped lances flew from the roiling sand-cloud around them, impossible to anticipate, and dozens of travellers fell to the ground, their forms shifting into grotesque shapes as they writhed in an agony that would only be eased by death. A flurry of disembodied arms rushed at them brandishing battle-axes and maces, and warm blood pooled onto the stony desert ground.
The shard throbbed against Hedārz’s chest. Just give it to them, he thought. They will find it on my corpse anyway.
A baby’s cry keened above the wind and tumult.
“Silence him,” shouted Hedārz.
“I can’t stop him screaming.” The mother glanced around, frantically grasping for help.
Hedārz stared at the young boy child swaddled in her arms. Then he made his decision.
“Here,” he said, holding out the thing that he had unburied, “this may work. It is a shard from the southern deserts and I have been told it has magical qualities that soothe and protect.”
He was lying, of course – he was not sure of its true powers. But he knew that his only chance of keeping it from the ghūls and ifrit that threatened them was to hide it with the baby. The innocence of a young child provides a strong bewilderment ward against djinn. Hopefully the ward would be strong enough.
The mother accepted the gift and hurriedly pushed the shard under the swaddling. “Thank you –”. The words froze on her lips when a djinn lance pierced the back of her head and emerged from her mouth.
Hedārz grabbed the baby before the mother began to metamorphose as she collapsed to the ground. To his dismay he saw that the karwan travellers around him had now turned on each other and were engaged in desperate battles to the death.
It was all over. The ifrit had entered the fray. Children of Adam had little resistance to their powers.
Hedārz held the baby close to him as the karwan leader came for him with the wild eyes of the possessed. He swung his sword and decapitated his attacker with one stroke. Others came, but the tomb thief struck them in desperation.
The howling of the djinn winds reached a crescendo, and grotesque half-forms closed in on him. Hedārz swung at the ghūls furiously, knowing he couldn’t survive the onslaught, yet blindly lashing at them in a wild hope.
The storm reached him, and he screamed as the arm holding his blade seemed to be ripped from its shoulder.
Then all fell silent.
The winds had dissipated into desert heat, and the djinn were gone. Around him lay the contorted bodies of his travelling companions.
Pain on his left side screamed at him. He looked down and was transfixed.
To his horror, his arm was gone.
He stood unmoving until the baby started crying.
And then the shadows began to move.
The pronunciation of Persian and Himyari
Author's note on the historical background of "The Hidden Prophet"
"The Hidden Prophet" is complete and currently unpublished. If you would like to see the manuscript contact me.
the arts of fighting djinn.
He knew that they would have to learn quickly if they were to have even the slimmest of chances.
“Beware,”cried Hedārz, memories of the Empty Quarter’s djinn winds shuddering through him, “you must sever a ghūl with one stroke. If your blade doesn’t slice fully through, it will grow stronger.”
He fumbled through his camel’s side packs and pulled out a handful of djinn-warding amulets, and then threw them to those that stood fear-ridden around him.
“Here, place these under your robes,” he shouted.
The karwan leader nodded awkwardly as he accepted his talisman, not questioning why a Persian would know so much about djinn.
“Remember,” said Hedārz, “an ifrit will always attempt to enter you through your nostrils. Keep your noses covered with your kaffiyehs. And if your friend turns on you mid-battle, you must kill him for an ifrit will have possessed his soul.”
The winds swirled just beyond the karwan circle, stones and grains of sand danced a malicious dance beyond the travellers’ huddle.
“And fight in silence,” he shouted. “Lower djinn are strengthened by the sound of the voices of children of Adam.”
Grotesque faces took shape in the tumult, inhuman faces fevered with inhuman leers. A disembodied hand shot out from the confusion like a striking snake, and Hedārz flashed his longblade through the wrist, a bright flame issuing from the wound.
With the drawing of first fire, the djinn onslaught began in earnest. Conjure-tipped lances flew from the roiling sand-cloud around them, impossible to anticipate, and dozens of travellers fell to the ground, their forms shifting into grotesque shapes as they writhed in an agony that would only be eased by death. A flurry of disembodied arms rushed at them brandishing battle-axes and maces, and warm blood pooled onto the stony desert ground.
The shard throbbed against Hedārz’s chest. Just give it to them, he thought. They will find it on my corpse anyway.
A baby’s cry keened above the wind and tumult.
“Silence him,” shouted Hedārz.
“I can’t stop him screaming.” The mother glanced around, frantically grasping for help.
Hedārz stared at the young boy child swaddled in her arms. Then he made his decision.
“Here,” he said, holding out the thing that he had unburied, “this may work. It is a shard from the southern deserts and I have been told it has magical qualities that soothe and protect.”
He was lying, of course – he was not sure of its true powers. But he knew that his only chance of keeping it from the ghūls and ifrit that threatened them was to hide it with the baby. The innocence of a young child provides a strong bewilderment ward against djinn. Hopefully the ward would be strong enough.
The mother accepted the gift and hurriedly pushed the shard under the swaddling. “Thank you –”. The words froze on her lips when a djinn lance pierced the back of her head and emerged from her mouth.
Hedārz grabbed the baby before the mother began to metamorphose as she collapsed to the ground. To his dismay he saw that the karwan travellers around him had now turned on each other and were engaged in desperate battles to the death.
It was all over. The ifrit had entered the fray. Children of Adam had little resistance to their powers.
Hedārz held the baby close to him as the karwan leader came for him with the wild eyes of the possessed. He swung his sword and decapitated his attacker with one stroke. Others came, but the tomb thief struck them in desperation.
The howling of the djinn winds reached a crescendo, and grotesque half-forms closed in on him. Hedārz swung at the ghūls furiously, knowing he couldn’t survive the onslaught, yet blindly lashing at them in a wild hope.
The storm reached him, and he screamed as the arm holding his blade seemed to be ripped from its shoulder.
Then all fell silent.
The winds had dissipated into desert heat, and the djinn were gone. Around him lay the contorted bodies of his travelling companions.
Pain on his left side screamed at him. He looked down and was transfixed.
To his horror, his arm was gone.
He stood unmoving until the baby started crying.
And then the shadows began to move.
The pronunciation of Persian and Himyari
Author's note on the historical background of "The Hidden Prophet"
"The Hidden Prophet" is complete and currently unpublished. If you would like to see the manuscript contact me.