John Schettler - Nexus Point

The Sami folded his arms, unwilling to touch the scroll, let alone read it; resolved in his anger and resentment that the work of his servants, the Fedayeen , should not be his to fully command. “Then why would he hide his purpose now that he has awakened?”

“I do not know, and unless I have word from Egypt or the Sheikh comes, I must not judge harshly.”

“Egypt!” The Sami spat out the word, clearly displeased. “It is always the coming of the scroll that you heed and obey, yet your eyes are blinded to what is clearly before you. This man is a wolf! The infidels are a blight upon our sacred cities. They infest the rich valleys of Palestine like locusts and vermin, and you wait dutifully and receive the scrawl of unseen hands in Egypt. And another wolf is at large again, Arnot is on the prowl. Have you not heard?” The Sami took relish and strength from the uncertainty that arose in the Kadi’s eyes when he spoke of Arnot, the Wolf of Kerak.

“Yes,” he pressed on, “he has escaped the justice ordained for him, and somehow returned to Jerusalem unharmed! Twice now we have tried to kill the man, yet he escapes the knife as though charmed. Perhaps he, too, is a Walker—sent here by the Order to plague us.”

“You tempt fate,” the Kadi warned. “You may not have been so bold if the Sheikh had been here.”

“Oh? You think the Sheikh would not approve? You do not know all or decide every measure in the struggle against our enemies. It is said that only the hand that wields the sword may hold the scepter. Sometimes strong measures are required, not the soft hand. And I tell you that this stranger in the chamber of greeting is another wolf, here in our own fold. He should be tortured, or slain, but you will not accede. You send the maids to him instead.”

“Yes, I do not accede. The Sheikh is not here to rule on the matter and we swore that nothing of consequence should be done unless we are both of equal mind. Act without sanction, and the weave of events will come undone. The harmony will fail, and we will have only the song of bereavement for solace. Will you answer those who mourn when that happens?”

The Sami looked away, annoyed and headstrong to the last. “You are not the only one who receives instruction here.”

The Kadi remembered how he met the Sami’s gaze just then, and how they struggled with one another, each seeking to impose his will on the other. What did he mean by that? Was he, too, receiving guidance from without—from Egypt, from the wandering Sheikh, from Alamut?

“No matter,” he said at last, unwilling to try and charm that snake just now. The matter before him was burden enough. He had to assure himself that the Sami would not act rashly. “Your intentions and motives I have already discerned. You have been told not to interfere!” He had pointed a hard finger at the Sami when he spoke, and even now he regretted his manners, in spite of the anger he still felt heating the back of his neck. “And now you advise me to kill a man I have been told to greet with warmth and welcome. He is a Walker. His coming was written.”

“He is an enemy, I tell you—or he is in the pay of the infidels” The Sami was adamant. “You allow him to eat from our table like an honored guest. What might he be planning, even now, while we quibble here?”

“He is watched.”

“Watched? By Whom? The harlot’s maid?”

“I have appointed Mukasir in this matter, as I have said. He is watched by one who speaks the Saxon tongue—Jabr Ali S’ad.”

“Yes, I have heard that he called out in his fever—with words of the heathen tongue upon his lips. He condemns himself with his own speech!”

“You judge too quickly. Could it be that you are blinded by your own hatred and fear?”

“Speak for yourself and leave the verdict of my heart in peace.”

“I have done so, yet you persist in straying from the appointed path. I am Amir al Hakeem: Kadi General of Massiaf!” The Kadi was not pleased that he had to remind the Sami of that fact yet again. He had been forced to speak his name and title more than once in the last year. The Sami remained unwilling to heed the demands made of him, and it was very troublesome. Yet, in spite of his office, the Kadi knew in his heart that they were equals. Only one other could pass binding judgment on either man—the nameless one, the Sheikh.

“As you wish,” he said with reluctance. “The Sheikh will decide what we can not agree upon here. I have pigeons at the ready, and they will take wing for the Sea of Ravens and Alamut.” He waited on the Sami now, testing his resolve.

“I have sent as well to Alamut.” The Sami folded his arms. In truth, neither wished to tempt the judgment of the Sheikh, for it might be harsh, and unexpectedly cruel for them both.

As if realizing that their argument would lead them nowhere, the two men lapsed into silence while the Kadi poured spiced tea into a porcelain cup and passed it to the dour figure at his side. The Sami looked at the cup, then reached out to receive it. “I will drink with you again on this.” He had spoken the words with some reluctance. The Kadi watched how he raised the cup to his lips and drained it in one quick swallow, and seemingly with little satisfaction. While three cups were customary, he took only one and stood up abruptly.

“Yes,” he whispered, “you are Kadi General of Castle Massiaf, and I am the Sami here. So I will drink your tea on this, but one cup only. And you should remember the day you sat naked in my presence and drank another cup—do you recall it?” The Sami was referring to the initiation rite that had first brought the Kadi into the clan, many years ago. It was an all too obvious insult, and the Sami made it plain that he considered himself the elder, and therefore the wiser in all things, in spite of the title that had been conferred on the Kadi. “Do what you wish with this man, then. But remember that I will be watching from the shadows, even as I was watching you that day when you sat with me and drank your first cup. And remember also what was spoken to you on that morning—was it so long ago that you have forgotten?” He looked at the scroll when he spoke. “Nothing is written,” he whispered. “And everything is permitted.”

The Kadi heaved a disconsolate sigh, as if to shrug off the burden the meeting with the Sami had placed upon his shoulders. Now he must speak with the stranger, and the time of judgment was at hand. His able servant of the watch, Jabr Ali Sa’d, had reported that the visitor was well, and ready to pass the discernment of his eye. Jabr was Mukasir , the breaker, charged to greet the unbeliever and begin the long process that would break his attachment to heathen ways. He had made a warm greeting with the man, and opened his voice. Yet there was still so much left to discern and time was short.

He stood up now, and his servants, sensing his movement from the adjoining room, rushed at once to his side to see to his needs. He told them to prepare the conference room, and set out fine pillows, food and drink. “And send to Jabr Ali S’ad,” he said. “Tell him we will see our guest in an hour’s time.”

Paul sat in the quietwarmth of his bed chamber, surrounded by silken pillows and soft linen. Until moments ago, the sensuous maid, Samirah, had been curled at his side, her warm body pressed close to him while he slept. There was certainly something to be said of Arab hospitality, he thought, yet he wondered at the treatment that was lavished upon him. This did not seem like the austere and oppressive manner he had been told to expect on his trip to Jordan.

He knew that Westerners, particularly Americans, were not liked in the Middle East these days. It was dangerous to travel there after the long simmering unrest that grew from the US invasion and occupation of Iraq in 2003. Yet, here he was, smothered with scented oil, dressed in fine Arabic robes, plied with sweet wines, food, wonderful coffee and, to his great surprise and delight, visited by this quiet beauty each night! It was the fifth day since he had fallen into the sinkhole, and the long hours of pampered rest had restored him.