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Thread: {Tales} The Hakawati Speaks

  1. #51

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    --The Hakawati tells the story of the Bloody Lapis—
    (part 1 of 2)


    We have customs and traditions as old as the sand. They are not written except within us and how we live by them for they are as much a part of us as our memories and souls. So long as we exist, the customs will not fade and so long as they exist, neither shall we.


    Among the oldest of these traditions are Blood Debt and Sanctuary. The family of a murdered person may seek the death of the murderer without fear of reprisal. If the murderer cannot be found, one of the murderer’s family may be killed to satisfy the Blood Payment. If in the desert we come across a lone traveler we give them Sanctuary if they ask it of us. Sometimes these two customs come into conflict since a person offered sanctuary cannot be killed to satisfy a blood debt without offending those giving him protection. When this happens, the animosity between families or tribes might last years or generations and could even lead to open war.


    Such was a time many years ago when our grandfathers’ grandfathers were young and a deep rivalry existed between the tribes of Sidaj and Jaram.


    There was in the tribe of Sidaj a young man named Kassam. He was not born Sidaj but was a foundling discovered as an infant in the desert. A child discovered in this manner is almost always the cast off result of a woman having been seduced by a djiin or an efreet. These children are usually seen as ill omens and left where they are found. However, the goatherd that found little Kassam was an old man who, with a barren wife, had no children of his own so he took the infant home.


    The old goatherd and his wife decided they would raise the child as the son they could never have and gave him the name, Kassam. As he grew, Kassam began to show a strength greater than his slight frame should hold. At seven he had the strength of boys twice his age. Some began to suspect Kassam of being a found child because off his strength. However, Kassam’s, quiet disposition and shy manner meant that in spite of his great strength, he was often bullied by the other children. Rarely was it that he did not have bruises and scrapes on him from the rough treatment he endured.


    By the age of fourteen both of his adoptive parents died. He inherited their meager possessions which were nothing but a small herd of goats and a ragged tent. His most prized memento of his parents was a grape sized lapis stone his father always wore on a leather cord about his neck. When the old goatherd died, he gave the stone to Kassam, telling him, “Do all that you can for the Sidaj, my son. There is no greater duty than to family and when I am gone, the tribe will be your family.”


    Kassam lived modestly and grew into a fine young man. Though shunned by many of his fellow tribesman because of their suspicions about his being a found child, Kassam remembered his father’s words and never failed to help when he could. Most often it was lending his strength which by all accounts was equal to that of a horse. Though to look at him one would see only a modest and unremarkable build.


    One of the boys who as a child took particular glee in tormenting Kassam was named Masri and he grew into one of the Sidaj’s finest horsemen. Masri led many successful raids against foreign caravans, enriching himself and the Sidaj. But never would he allow any spoils to be distributed to Kassam.


    One night after a particularly successful raid Kassam was as usual helping unload the goods from captured camels. When he lifted the entire pack from one of the camels and set it on the ground the bindings came undone and out spilled bolts of cloth. One of the raiders knew Kassam’s tent needed mending so he told Kassam to take a bolt or two of the cloth.


    Masri was nearby and heard this. “Kassam deserves nothing,” proclaimed Masri. “For all his strength he does not ride on raids. He is timid as the goats he herds and of little use for other than clearing away rocks for old women!” Masri approached Kassam and shoved him in the back. “Go! Go back to your goats!”

    Kassam walked off, eyes cast down but Masri followed him, pushing him along. “See! He does not even turn and face me like a man when insulted. This is how you face a man, Goatherd.” Masri grabbed Kassam by the shoulder and spun him around. Kassam did not raise his eyes. Sneering, Masri snatched the lapis stone from around Kassam’s neck, dashed it to pieces against a nearby rock and turned away, laughing.


    Enraged, Kassam grasped Masri by the back of the neck and the belt. He lifted Masri over his head and threw him against the same rock, snapping his back. With Masri twitching, Kassam tossed him aside like a doll and knelt to gather the pieces of his broken lapis. When he looked up, the faces of those gathered about stared at him with horror, fear and awe. Masri moaned but did not move. Ashamed of his anger and fearing what the others might do, Kassam fled to his tent. He hastily gathered a few water skins, a loaf of stale bread and ran into the desert night.


    By morning Masri was dead and his family demanded blood payment. Even though a few tribesmen spoke in favor of Kassam, saying that Masri instigated the confrontation, the Sidaj Emir allowed the blood payment. The Emir saw this as a way to appease Masri’s family, punish Kassam for killing the Sidaj’s best raider and to rid the Sidaj of a suspected foundling.


    Kassam walked the desert until his bread and water were was all gone. Despairing, Kassam lay at the base of a rocky hill. In the cloudless sky, the black crosses of vultures drifted in lazy circles over Kassam. He closed his eyes, consigning himself to the slow death of thirst. Exhausted, he soon fell asleep, but was awoken many hours later by a voice.


    “Is he dead,” asked the voice.


    Kassam opened his eyes. The harsh desert sun stabbed at them and all he saw were blurry shadows around him. “Go away,” he said to the shadows, thinking them vultures. “I am no meal yet.”


    “No but you soon will be,” said the largest of the vulture shadows. “Who are you?”


    Kassam squinted but the shadow remained blurry. He tried to lift his head but found himself too weak. “Kassam Al Sidaj,” he said to the shadow. “But you will have to wait a while longer before calling me supper.”


    “You are not Kassam,” dismissed the shadow. “He has the strength of a horse. Or so it is said of the man that killed Masri Al Sidaj.”


    Kassam closed his eyes and spoke as if ashamed. “That is me, but by the scales of Set, I had no intention of killing Masri. I shall regret it until my dying moment. I would ask you at least wait until that moment arrives before eating my carcass.”


    The voice laughed as did others around Kassam. “Very well. Is there anything else you wish, Kassam Al Sidaj?”


    “There are many things a dying man might ask for,” said Kassam. “But I doubt vultures have either water or shade that might ease my passing or prolong what time remains to me.”


    “You might be surprised,” said the voice. “Give him some water.”


    Kassam felt his head being lifted from the rocky ground. A damp cloth dabbed at his burning face and pressed to his cracked lips so that he might take a little water at first. Once his lips were moistened, the mouth of a waterskin was brought to them and though the water was warm from the sun and tasted of leather Kassam eagerly drank like a hungry goat kid at its mother’s teat. He drank until the waterskin was taken away.


    A shadow fell over Kassam. “Careful,” said the voice. “Too much and you may become ill.”


    Kassam opened his eyes and as they focused, the shadows around him took the shape of men. The man whose shadow fell across Kassam and who had been speaking to him sat atop a dark grey mare. Kassam did not know the man’s face but the fine robes he wore and the gilded tassels hanging from the horse reins marked him as a man of standing among nomads.


    “Your regret over Masri’s death seems genuine,” said the man looking down at Kassam. “And though I shall not mourn the Sidaj devil that harassed caravans under our protection, it would be improper to deny any man sanctuary from death in the desert. Even if he is a Sidaj. We will take you back to camp, Kassam. And once there, so long as you are within sight of a Jaram tent, you shall have sanctuary among the Jaram. As Emir of all Jaram, you have my word.”
    -There are things in the deep desert that could not be imagined even in the nightmares of a thousand madmen.-

  2. #52

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    --The Hakawati tells the story of the Bloody Lapis--
    (part 2 of 2)


    And so it was that Kassam was given sanctuary among the Jaram. The Jaram Emir made certain that his fellow tribesmen knew Kassam was the one that had killed Masri. So grateful were the Jaram that they gave Kassam a tent and goats and other things with which he might start life anew. For many years Sidaj raiders led by Masri had devastated the caravans passing out of Jaram land to the point that many caravans were avoiding Jaram territory for safer but longer routes. Now, they hoped with Masri dead the caravans would return once more and bring with them prosperity to the Jaram.


    When the Sidaj learned Kassam was living with the Jaram, several of Masri’s family went to the Jaram Emir. They demanded Kassam be given to them to satisfy a blood debt but since the Jaram Emir had given Kassam sanctuary, the Emir refused, saying, “So long as Kassam is within sight of our tents, he has the protection of the Jaram. If you or any Sidaj violate the ancient tradition of sanctuary, our vengeance will be swift and righteous.” The Jaram Emir knew the Sidaj would not break tradition just as he knew that giving Kassam sanctuary angered the Sidaj. And in a way this was vengeance against the Sidaj for the damage their caravan raids had caused to the Jaram.


    The Sidaj raids continued against caravans traveling into or out of Jaram land. Because going through Jaram territory was the shortest route to the west, Caravans still stopped at Jaram oases but they were fewer and more heavily guarded. Often by men who would have otherwise been criminals in their own countries.


    It happened that one of the young Jaram girls was seduced by a criminal foreigner. Fearing for her life since it was a capitol sin among the Jaram to be unmarried and pregnant, the girl begged her mother for help. At the time, the Al-Zahar was at the oasis with several other priestesses of Derketo. Not wanting her daughter or family to suffer the disgrace of a ******* child, the mother went to the Al Zahar for advice.


    The Shining Star of Derketo thought for a moment. She knew of the growing animosity between Sidaj and Jaram and that one day it would spill over from caravan raids into brutal war between the tribes. In this young girl’s predicament, the Al Zahar saw the first seeds of preventing open conflict. “Go to the Shiqq when the men gather in the afternoon,” the Al Zahar told the mother. “Unseen, you must follow the men as they go to relieve themselves. The man who walks the farthest is the most shy and most timid. It is this man that you must convince to marry your daughter in order to preserve her honor.”


    The mother did as she was told and it was Kassam who walked the farthest to relieve himself. The next day the mother approached Kassam as he was tending his goats and told him that her daughter was interested in him as a husband. She invited Kassam to their tent so he and the men of her family might come to an agreement. At first the men of the young girl’s family were hesitant but both mother and daughter argued so well in favor of the marriage that the men eventually agreed to give the girl to Kassam as a wife.


    Once Kassam and his new wife were alone on their wedding night, she began weeping and begging his forgiveness. She had come to know Kassam as a kind man and her heart could not bear keeping the truth from him. She told him everything, admitting that the marriage was arranged just to protect her secret.


    Though disappointed, Kassam did not grow angry. Remembering his father’s words, Kassam told his new wife, “There is no greater duty than to family. Your secret will be safe with me but we shall be husband and wife only in appearance and never will this marriage be consummated. Once the child is born, we will contrive reasons to be divorced. To protect your honor, you may claim me as the child’s father and I will never say otherwise.”


    A boy was born and named Zayad. Before the child was a year old, Kassam and his young wife engaged in several public arguments of such an explosive nature that the Cadi granted a divorce in order to keep the peace.


    As the years moved on, the Sidaj stopped waiting for caravans to leave Jaram territory and raided into Jaram lands. The Jaram countered by allowing their young men to guard the caravans and then by sending retaliatory raids against the Sidaj. By the time Zayad reached the age where he could go raiding, the Sidaj and Jaram were breaths away from a war that would end only in the complete destruction of one of the tribes. So close to war were the two tribes that the Ashem Pasha sent the Al Zahar to try and broker peace between the Sidaj and Jaram.


    Zayad’s mother feared for her son’s life when he went raiding. When the Sidaj and Jaram captured enemies they always offered ransom but if no ransom was paid, the captives were killed. Knowing the family did not have enough for ransom, Zayad’s mother went to the Al Zahar when the priestess came to the Jaram seeking to negotiate peace. Upon seeing Zayed’s mother, the Al Zahar saw that the seed for peace she had planted years before was ready to bear fruit.


    “Tell Zayad to come to me at the new moon in two days,” the Al Zahar told Zayad’s worrying mother. “I will bestow the blessings of Derketo upon him and tell him the means by which no Jaram mother shall again fear her son falling to a Sidaj sword.”


    Zayad came to the Al Zahar on the new moon to receive Derketo’s blessings. Once finished when he and the Al-Zahar lay naked and exhausted, she whispered to him. “Go to your father. He wears about his neck two halves of a broken stone. Ask him for one and heed what he says for in this stone is the power to stop Sidaj and Jaram blood soaking the eternal sand. But only so long as you wear it.”


    Zayad went to his father, telling him what the Al Zahar said. Kassam reluctantly removed one of the broken halves of the lapis and gave it to Zayed. “There is no greater duty than to family. Honor your family and the Jaram, son. Always.” Zayed took the cracked lapis and bid Kassam farewell.


    Before the next new moon, Zayed was helping guard one of the caravans travelling west through Jaram territory when they were attacked at night by Sidaj raiders. The Sidaj swept through the camp like a desert storm, cutting down any who resisted and capturing any who could not. Before Zayed could raise a sword, a club to the back of the head sent him face first to the ground. He was wakened by a kick in the side and pulled to his knees.


    Hands and feet tied, Zayed knelt in a line with other captives. A Sidaj raider walked the line of captives looking for Jaram. Upon finding a man of Jaram, the captive would be taken away. The Sidaj honored the tradition of ransom and would send a captive back if the captive’s family paid what was asked. If not, they would send back only the captive’s head. When the raider came to Zayed he paused. “Uncle,” called the man over his shoulder. “Come see this!”


    An older grey bearded Sidaj wearing the green sash of a Bey and a long scimitar approached. “What is it,” he asked, annoyed. The other man pointed to Zayad’s neck. The grandfather of a Sidaj drew his scimitar and set he point under Zayad’s chin lifting it so he could get a better look at the lapis dangling from Zayad’s neck. “Where did you get that stone,” demanded the old Sidaj.


    “It belongs to my father,” said Zayad.


    “You father is Kassam Al Sidaj?”


    Zayad nodded. “He is. Do you know him?”


    “I do,” said the old man withdrawing his sword. “Your father killed my son, Masri. It is only fitting that I return the favor.” A single, quick stroke separated Zayad’s head from his body. Using his sword, the old Sidaj dipped the lapis in Zayad’s blood and flicked it toward one of the other Jaram captives. “Give this to Kassam and tell him his blood debt is paid. He may return to the Sidaj with no ill will.” Then turning to his men, he commanded, “Take all that we can but send the Jaram back to their families. We no longer have quarrel with them.”


    When Kassam was given the bloody lapis he stared at it for long moments and went silently back into his tent. In the morning his tent was folded and placed before the Jaram Emir’s tent. All of Kassam’s livestock was tied outside the tent of Zayad’s mother, the woman to which he was briefly married yet Kassam was nowhere to be seen. Everyone assumed that with the blood debt paid, Kassam returned to the Sidaj but all that was ever seen of him in the Sidaj camp were footsteps in the sand and the unbloodied half of a lapis hung outside the tent of Masri’s father. With the virtue of a young wife protected and a blood debt paid, Kassam was never seen again.
    -There are things in the deep desert that could not be imagined even in the nightmares of a thousand madmen.-

  3. #53

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    --The Hakawati tells the story of Areem Ghen and the Amurel Ghoul—
    (Part 1 of 2)


    The Ilbars Mountains rise like the jagged teeth of a hyena's jaw at the edge of the Southern Wastes. Deep in these mountains is a valley known as the "Scar of Amurel" which is lorded over by a demon of the same name. Within the valley, whose northern end is near the Necropolis called Stone Sleep, Amurel has surrounded himself with all manner of dark and twisted creatures. Most notably, the valley is home to many ghouls which is fitting given that Amurel is the demon lord of murder and demands worship through cannibalism of the murder victims.


    Through countless generations, the ghouls living in the Scar of Amurel have become masters of deceit. They can alter their voices and even the sounds around them so as to trick unwary travelers into hearing melodious music rather than the terrified screams which sometimes echo through the jagged ravines. For a hundred miles east and west, the Scar of Amurel is the only passable area of the mountains. Many travelers needing to traverse the range have been deluded by ghoul charm-voices and tricked from their path only to be devoured.


    Though cunning, these ghouls are not smart. Unlike sorcerous desert ghouls, those in the valley are timid and weak minded which is why they must resort to trickery for their meals. Because of their general stupidity they are sometimes manipulated by artful men into performing all manner of depravity on behalf of the manipulator.


    Where the southern end of the valley begins to give way to Iranistan is a land called Ifsharam. The people of Ifsharam, while not particularly courageous, are possibly the craftiest people to have lived. Among them you will not find famous soldiers or sorcerers but rather infamous thieves and spies.


    Areem Ghen, a resident of Ifsharam, once found that he needed to travel through the Scar of Amurel alone. Areem was a man of quick wit with a taste for adventure uncommon in the Ifsharami. While certainly not man of great valor, he had confidence in his cunning which had seen him through many situations that would have embarrassed most men of superior bravery. So, packing himself a small meal of hummus and two loaves of bread into a sack, Areem set out through the valley.


    Areem had not anticipated the rugged terrain and found himself still in the valley as the sun began to set. Knowing he would not be out of the valley before night, Areem began looking for a safe place to hide from the ghouls until morning. With the mountain shadows growing longer and the valley darkening, he had yet to find a hiding place when he heard a little voice.


    “You are going to be eaten.”


    Areem turned to see a small red fox sitting on a nearby rock. “I hope not, friend fox. It would be most inconvenient as I am expected home before tomorrow evening. What about you? Won’t you be eaten, too?”


    “No, no,” said the fox. “I know all the hiding places. I even know the places hiding places hide when they do not want to be found.”


    “Now that is impressive,” said Areem. “I am Areem Ghen from Ifsharam and since I do not know this valley I would be grateful to you if you could tell me where I might find even a regular hiding place. After all, I do not want to be eaten.”


    The fox twitched its tail. “I wonder if you do not want to be eaten as much as I want to eat. For weeks all I have been able to scrounge are a few tiny rock lizards. I smell bread and hummus in your sack. For a meal I will tell you where to hide.”


    “Then we have an agreement, friend fox.” Areem pulled one of the loaves of bread from the sack and gave it to the fox. “Now, where do I hide?”


    “In a cave, stupid man,” laughed the fox. Before Areem could say or do a thing, the fox snatched up the bread up its mouth and ran off, disappearing among the rubble.


    Areem cursed himself for letting the fox trick him. He should have known better but was desperate to find a place to hide before nightfall. Luckily it only cost Areem half his meal and even more luckily Areem managed to find a small cave before nightfall. He gathered up old thorny scrub and thickets, piled them in front of the cave to disguise the entrance and slipped inside for what he hoped would be an uneventful night. No sooner had the first star appeared over the rugged mountains than Areem heard a familiar voice calling to him. “Areem Ghen Ifsharami! It is me, Kadii Fahan Ifsharami! Where are you!”


    Areem knew the ghouls in the valley could play tricks on the mind with their voices and no doubt this was a ghoul using a charm-voice to sound like Areem’s friend, Kadii. It then occurred to Areem that the ghoul must have been following him but lost sight of him. Though Areem hid the cave’s entrance with brush, ghouls can smell humans from a hundred yards away so it was only a matter of time before the ghoul sniffed out Areem’s hiding place. The crafty Ifsharami determined to encounter the ghoul and trust his cunning to provide and escape. ”Friend Kadii! I am here,” Areem called back. “In a small cave hidden from ghoul eyes by thickets!”


    “I see it,” said the ghoul with Kadii’s voice. “Wait and I will come to you and we can hide together!” Moments later the brush covering the cave entrance rustled. A horrid, rotting thing half again as tall as a man pushed its way through the thickets. It slouched to fit in the small cave and its hands at the end of long apish arms dangled near its ankles. It leered at Areem with blister red eyes and grinned, baring rows of crooked, needle teeth. “Dinner,” it gurgled.


    “You are not Kadii,” exclaimed Areem accusingly. “You are just some loathsome demon! Just as well. I was hoping to find one of your kind out here.”


    The ghoul stopped, confused at having been spoken to in such a reproachful manner. Dinner usually screamed and begged not to be eaten. “What do you mean, man-meat?”


    “I have traveled many lands looking for my equal,” Areem explained. “I have matched my strength against all the creatures that walk the earth and found them all wanting. Only your kind remains for me to test my strength.”


    The ghoul eyed Areem suspiciously. “You do not seem powerful to me.”


    “And you do not seem handsome to me but I am sure there is some ghoul woman who would claim otherwise.” Areem picked up a fist sized rock and tossed it to the ghoul. “Here! Squeeze the guts out of this rock!”


    The ghoul caught the rock and clenched it in a fist of long many jointed fingers that reminded Areem of spider legs. While the ghoul concentrated on squeezing the rock, Areem slipped his hand into his meal sack and took up a fistful of hummus. The ghoul quickly grew frustrated. “Impossible,” he said and tossed the rock back to Areem.


    Using the darkness as cover, Areem caught the rock with one hand and pretended to place it in the other while secretly slipping the rock into his meal sack. Areem held up the hand full of hummus and squeezed until hummus oozed between his fingers. “Behold, ghoul! Guts from a rock!”


    The ghoul sniffed the air. “Does not smell like guts.”


    “Of course not,” Areem snorted. “Why would rock guts smell like people guts! Here, see for yourself.” Areem picked up a larger rock from the cavern floor and set it in front of the ghoul. “Go on, eat it.”


    The ghoul picked up the rock. He hesitated at first but not wanting to appear weak in front of a man that squeezed guts from rocks, the ghoul bit into the rock. Three of his needle teeth broke off and fell out of his slobbering jaw. This did not much bother the ghoul seeing as he had several rows of teeth in his oversized head. Besides, they always grew back. “No one can eat a rock!”


    “Weakling!” Areem took the rock from the Ghoul. He turned from the ghoul and in doing so again used the dark and the ghoul’s stupidity to secretly switch the rock with his loaf of bread. Areem quickly devoured the bread to the ghoul’s astonishment.


    This caused much worry in the ghoul’s mind. A man of such power could easily do as he wished. Not wanting to anger such a powerful little man, the cunning ghoul decided to pretend friendship until he found a way to kill Areem. “Such great strength,” exclaimed the ghoul with a clumsy bow to Areem. “Man-Friend, my home is not far and it would do me great honor to have you as a guest for the evening. A man such as you deserves to sleep upon a bed and not the rocky ground.”


    Areem had no wish to arouse the suspicion of the ghoul by refusing what seemed to be a genuine offer of hospitality so he nodded his agreement. “Very well, friend ghoul. But mind you, I am a man of quick anger and any insult I will return a hundred fold with violence. Keen is my eye to deceit and should I spot any I promise to twist your head off your shoulders.”


    The ghoul scraped his long fingers over his distended belly, a ghoulish sign of sincerity. “By my Lord Amurel, I will honor the traditions of hospitality,” swore the ghoul. “Your ears shall hear nothing to arouse your anger nor will your eyes behold any trickery. My I suffer a hundred years of hunger should my tongue lie.”


    “Very well, ghoul friend, lead the way.” Areem, being a cunning, man knew the ghoul would keep the letter of his promise but not the spirit. Though Areem might not hear insult or see trickery, he knew the ghoul planned something nefarious and he had to remain vigilant if he was to live.
    Last edited by batkalim; 30th April 2014 at 20:38.
    -There are things in the deep desert that could not be imagined even in the nightmares of a thousand madmen.-

  4. #54

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    --The Hakawati tells the story of Areem Ghen and the Amurel Ghoul—
    (Part 2 of 2)



    The ghoul led Areem along hidden, craggy paths and twisting ravines until they came to a large cave opening dimly lit from within by glowing lichen. “Home,” said the Ghoul. “And here my new friend will find in abundance all the comforts he desires.” The ghoul led Areem into the cave and through a confusing maze of lichen lit rooms stuffed with all manner of hoarded goods. Gold silver and gems thrown like trash into the corners of rooms glimmered under the dim light. All of it plunder, no doubt from those unfortunate travelers that happened upon the ghoul and whose bones Areem occasionally tripped over or whose hidden, rotting carcasses he chanced to smell.


    The ghoul stopped in one of the rooms and lifted a large barrel under an arm before leading Areem into a well-appointed part of the cavern decorated with plundered silks and satins. “A man of great strength must have great appetites,” said the ghoul. He set down the heavy barrel, punched a hole in the top and tipped it over. Rice spilled from the hole like sand. “I trust this barrel of rice will be enough of a mezzeh before the main course.”


    “Normally, yes,” said Areem. “But today I have already eaten as much rice as you have there, two goats, three chickens and a rock so I am not hungry. However, I will accept your hospitality and have a small bowl to be polite.”


    “Then I will have to boil the rice since men do not eat their food raw like we ghouls. I will fetch wood for a cook fire and you can get the water from the spring in the next cavern. Use that over there to carry it,” said the ghoul pointing to huge iron cauldron before leaving.


    Areem waited for the ghoul to leave and turned his attention to the cauldron. “This will take five men to move,” he thought, “and five times as many to move if it was full of water. If the ghoul returns and finds no water in the cauldron he will know I am not as strong as he believed.” A thought then struck Areem. After finding a pick and shovel among the hoard of stolen goods, Areem began digging a small trench from the spring to the main cavern.


    When the ghoul returned he found the cauldron empty and Areem nowhere to be seen. Sniffing the air, the ghoul followed the scent of living man to find Areem digging a little trench. “I have been an hour gathering wood and you could not even fetch water! Can you not do something so easy as to tote a cauldron to and from?”


    “Why of course I can but I feel I should offer something more than strength to repay your kindness. Behold how the strong mind of a man makes his labors easier!” Areem pointed to the spring and the little bit of trenching he had managed to dig. “When finished, this small channel will funnel water into your living cavern. There, I will construct a pool and a small dam by which with little effort you may draw water at your leisure.”


    “Bah! I’ll get the water myself,” said the ghoul fetching the large cauldron and carrying it in one hand as if it were light as a reed basket. “Leave off this tinkering of yours and come have dinner before getting your rest. If you like, you can finish this in the morning.”


    Areem ate several bowls of rice which much to his surprise was quite well prepared given that the ghoul cooked it. After dinner the ghoul set a bed for Areem of thick coverlets and down pillows taken from the hoard of stolen goods. He set the bed by the cook fire’s dying embers. “You can sleep here,” said the ghoul. “It gets cold at night and a man’s skin is not as thick as a ghoul’s so the embers should help keep you warm. I will sleep in my bed against the far wall.”


    Areem thanked the ghoul for the fine bed and slipped under the covers. The ghoul soon fell to a deep and raucous snoring but Areem, anxious as to what might happen if he closed his eyes, remained awake. When he was certain the Ghoul was asleep, Areem quietly rose and slipped out of the cavern. But the labyrinth of rooms and passages proved too confusing and Areem could not find his way out to the surface. In one of the rooms he spotted a large spool of thread as big around as his leg and carried this back to the ghoul’s main cavern. Areem unraveled half of the spool and being very careful, tied the free end around the sleeping ghoul’s ankle. He then stuffed pillows under the blankets of his bed to make it look like he was in it, placed a large gourd under the blankets where his head would be and then hid himself to watch the ghoul.


    Shortly before dawn the ghoul woke and quiet as a moth’s beating wings slipped from his bed and over to Areem’s bed. As Areem had hoped, the ghoul did not notice the string tied about his ankle because of his thick skin. The ghoul picked up his walking stick which was as thick as a man’s neck and bashed what he thought was Areem’s head. Then to be certain Areem was dead, beat the huge cane against him six more times. Satisfied Areem was dead, the ghoul went back to bed.


    As the ghoul returned to bed, Areem snuck back under his covers then sat up, rubbing his head. “Friend ghoul,” he said, “I do not mean to insult you but you have some type of flying vermin. The flap of its wings against the covers pulled me from the sweetest dream. Seven times it flapped. Once on my head and six on my back. Though it cannot hurt a man, it is most annoying.”


    Hearing Areem speak was frightful enough for the ghoul but to hear the little man describe seven blows that would have felled seven oxen as nothing but the flap of an insect’s wing horrified the wretched beast. Realizing there was no safety from such a man and fearing for his life, the ghoul ran out of the cave trailing the string along with him.


    Areem chased after the ghoul, following the string all the way to the cave entrance. Once outside, Areem cut the string so the ghoul would not drag it all out and followed it back to the main cavern. Now the master of the hoard, Areem set about devising a way to remove it all for his own. He put enough gems into his pocket to hire wagons for hauling away the treasures and before leaving took from among the stolen goods a sling which he found himself particularly fond of for some reason.


    Once outside the cave, he began marking the path so he could find his way back. Not an hour after leaving he saw the ghoul marching up the path back to the cave. The ghoul carried in his hand a club as big as a tree trunk which he bashed angrily against the ground and at his side trotted a little red fox.


    “That dastardly fox must have lifted the veil of deceit from the ghoul and undone my trickery,” thought Areem. “Now I am for a supper pot if I do not do something.” Acting quickly, Areem placed a rock in the sling. He jumped up, spun the sling about and hurled the rock against the fox’s head. The fox fell dead with its skull cracked open. “Take that!” yelled Areem. “I told that tricky ******* to fetch me seven ghouls that I could chain and take back with me. And look! It has only brought you who are already my servant! I should kill you, too!”


    Areem wrapped the sling around a head-sized rock. “Hold still,” he commanded the ghoul. So frightened was the stupid ghoul that it ran off and was quickly out of sight without ever realizing Areem could not possibly hurl that large of a stone.


    Once back in Ifsharam, Areem used the gems in his pocket to hire a train of mules. Having marked well the path to the ghoul’s cave he brought back the entire hoard. It is said that even after returning goods to families who could prove relation to one of the ghoul’s victims, Areem lived out his life as a wealthy man. All because of his quick mind.
    -There are things in the deep desert that could not be imagined even in the nightmares of a thousand madmen.-

  5. #55

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    --The Hakawati tells how the stars and the seasons came to be—


    When you look to the sky and see the stars like a million jewels scattered across the darkness, know that there was a time when there were no stars. Before Atlantis and Acheron. Before the desert swallowed the Garden of Shem. Before the Immortal Magi, there was only the moon drifting through the blackest night. Though, the moon was much larger than she is now.

    In this time before memory when unknown things crawled over the face of the world, the Sun and Moon shared the sky equally. Days and nights did not lengthen and shorten with the seasons as they now. In fact, the world knew no seasons, just day and night. During the day, the sun would traverse the sky and at night so too would the moon follow the same path. Only when one was setting and the other rising would Sun and Moon briefly see one another. And so it had been since the beginning of all things.

    One day when Sun was at his highest, Mountain called to him. “Sun, since I was but a pebble you have walked through the sky giving light and warmth all day while Moon brings comfort and rest at night. There are times when both of you are on the horizon yet the two of you never speak. Why is that?”

    “Moon is the lovliest thing in all creation," Sun told Mountain. "She is beautiful to behold but there is nothing to say. I rule the day and she rules the night. It has always been this way.”

    Mountain thought on this and many nights later when Moon was at her highest, Mountain called to her. “Beautiful Moon, since I was a pebble you have floated through the sky giving comfort and rest all the night while Sun brings light and warmth for the day. Yet, when both of you are on the horizon you never speak. Why is that?”

    “It is not my place to speak to him first,” said Moon. “Though he is strong with a handsome light and I yearn to speak with him, it would be disgraceful for me to approach him first.”

    Mountain considered for a long while what to do in order to bring Sun and Moon together. A long while to a mountain is of course much different than a long while for us. Being a mountain, this long while could very well have been many generations of man as we mark time. Finally, one day Mountain said to Sun, “Sun, it occurs to me that I am most content when you and moon are on opposite horizons and I am bathed in the lights of day and night.”

    “I admit that I too enjoy the comfort of night for the brief time Moon and I share the sky,” said Sun.

    “Think how magnified that comfort would be should you marry Moon,” said Mountain. “Moon has told me how she hopes with her heart that you will speak to her.”

    “Speak to her? Marry her? Moon has not said such a thing to me.”

    “Of course not,” said Mountain. “She is a proper woman and will not approach a man first. However, I have heard from Wind that Sea wishes to make Moon her own because of how moon sparkles on Sea’s face. If you wish to have Moon you must say something to her.”

    “Thank you, Mountain, I will.” That evening as Sun and Moon were each on the horizon, Sun called to Moon, “Hello, Moon.”

    Moon was so excited that Sun spoke to her that he had nearly set before she composed herself enough to reply, “Hello, Sun.”

    Things happen in the heavens at a pace even slower than a mountain might comprehend and so it was for many thousands of years that Sun and Moon would speak to one another as they passed. Over time their attraction grew and when Sun finally asked Moon to be his wife, she agreed without hesitation. Soon after, well soon in celestial reckoning at least, as Sun was passing through his highest point and starting to decend, Moon began to rise on the horizon.

    "Wife, what are you doing," asked Sun. "Is something wrong?"

    "No, husband," said Moon. "I find myself wanting to be near you. That is all."

    "Very well. Just do not disturb me and remain out of my way."

    Moon did as the sun asked and remained behind him, meandering through the sky. It was enough for her to be close to her husband and she did not notice that his light overpowered hers, making her seem weak and pale in the light of day. Moon followed Sun over the horizon and that night for the first time there was no Moon in the sky. Mountain and Wind and Sea and all the rest of the world spent the night in despair and utter blackness for there was no Moon to give them light or comfort. When sun climbed over the eastern horizon no sooner has his light started to spread across the heavens than the voices of the world called out to him.

    "Sun," said Mountain, "Where was your wife!"

    "What do you mean," asked Sun. "I left her here when I descended below the horizon to sleep."

    "No," Mountain said to Sun. "Moon followed you shortly after you went to bed and she did not return."

    "Yes, where did she go," asked Sea. "Not once did her light glimmer upon my face and I spent the night dark and afraid!"

    "And I could not see where to go," complained Wind. "I have stumbled against Mountain and tripped over Sea and disturbed all the world without meaning to!"

    "You are her husband," said Mountain. "You must do something."

    Sun promised all the voices of the world that he would set things right. When moon appeared later in the day, Sun said to her, "Moon, why did you not pass the night looking over the world?"

    "Forgive me. I was tired from following you through the day," explained Moon. "I promise I will not follow you so closely today and will stay all the night." But soon after Sun was sleeping below the horizon, Moon, too slipped from the sky and the world was left in darkness. For three days this happened and for three days Moon promised to remain the night but never did.

    So willful had Moon become as wife to the Sun that when she moved through the night, sometimes she would just peek above the horizon and drop back down. Sometimes she would turn her back to the word and though she was in the sky, she shed no light. All the voices of the World complained to Sun and having had enough off his wife’s empty promises, Sun lingered in the sky waiting for her. “I will beat the woman back into her place,” proclaimed Sun.

    Each day he lingered a bit longer but Moon, knowing he was angry, never showed her face to him. The days began to grow longer and hotter. Eventually Sun grew weary of waiting for his wife. Fatigued, he began to sleep more and the days became shorter and colder.

    All the while Moon appeared at night only when she wished and only for as long as she wished. Mountain, being oldest and wisest of the world’s voices noticed how when the days grew short and snow began covering the world that moon would glow brighter to admire her light reflecting off the snow. Seeing that Moon was a vain creature, Mountain said to her, “Lovely moon, you are truly the endless beauty of heaven!”

    “I know,” said Moon admiring how her light sparkled off the snow covering Mountain’s bald head.

    Mountain sighed. “I cannot bear to think what will happen to your beauty in the morning.”

    “What do you mean, old Mountain? I will be under the western horizon before my Husband wakes.”

    “That is just it,” said Mountain “Sun will not rise in the east. He waits under the western horizon and plans to catch you.”

    Moon laughed. “So, he thinks he can catch me? Hah! I’ll show him.” Moon wandered back east and just as Mountain had hoped, bumped right into her husband as he rose. She screamed and tried to run but Sun followed close behind, lashing at her with a long, seven tailed whip.

    All across the heavens Sun chased Moon and each bite of the whip sent bits of moon flying across the sky. The stars we see are bits of the moon and the winding path through the sky where the stars are thickest marks where she ran while trying to get away.

    Sun whipped Moon so much that she grew smaller but the bits of her that scattered across the sky were enough to comfort the world when she did not appear at night. To this day Sun reminds Moon of her place and whips her until she turns her back on the world. But Moon has never learned her lesson or her place and as her wounds heal, she again turns her face to the world. And though the full moon is beautiful, she is now a pale reflection of what she once was.
    -There are things in the deep desert that could not be imagined even in the nightmares of a thousand madmen.-

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