John Schettler - Nexus Point

“We must go now,” he said. “The Kadi must consider what was said here this morning. Come now—rise and bow. We will leave as we have come.”

The Sami waitedin the Eyrie of Sinan, the highest point in Castle Massiaf, towering up over the crenellated battlements of the main wall, a stark spike of stone penetrating the night. A forbidden keep, the retreat of the nameless Sheikh himself when he quartered there, it was a dank and cheerless place. Few would chance even to speak of its bleak walls, and none would dare to climb the gray stair leading to the high arched gate that made for its single entrance. Only the Sami, master of the arts of the Assassins and the keeper of the keys to that tower, would dare to cross the threshold. The keystone of the arch was scored with the Arabic inscription that would stand as both a warning and guiding rule for the secret cult he presided over, a truth the Sami knew well—that Time is boundless.

Yet his patience was not so generous. An enemy was at work here: Arnat, the Wolf that had preyed upon his brethren and even dared to launch raids upon the holy soil of Arabia, was again at large. The Sami had it in his mind to send a chosen clutch of his lethal Fedayeen to deal with the man. He had been planning the matter for many months now, sending out spies to gather information on the man’s whereabouts. Now, the coming of this strange messenger filled him with doubt. It may be that he would need his loyal fighters here at Massiaf until he could determine how to deal with this intruder. He sighed, still unwavering in his mind. I will follow the track of the Wolf soon enough, he thought, but first the matter of this stranger, and the intransigence of the Kadi.

Tonight the restless airs blew from the east, carrying with them the scent of the desert, warm dry winds over the flint and shale of sunburned rock. He squinted out over the iron transom of a tall lancet window there, smelling the air and watching the gathering of night. It was a fast wind tonight, he thought, and the messengers will come before the moon is down for certain.

As if in answer he heard the haunting call of the birds drifting over the rugged highlands, and caught the dark fleck of the messenger pigeons wheeling against the mottled face of a waning moon. Perhaps tonight he would have his answer, he thought. It had been five days since the stranger arrived at Massiaf—five days of uncertainty that rankled in his gut as he recalled the face and manner of the man. He was still shaken by the apprehension that had fallen upon him when he approached the stranger, dagger in hand, in the Kadi’s council chamber. It was as if he perceived a faint glow emanating from the man, an aura that surrounded him with some dark magic that was undoubtedly the work of the Order. He remembered how he shirked back, lest he be defiled by the man’s unholy touch. Who was this? Why was he sent?

It was clear that he was an enemy, and if there was one thing the Sami had a firm hold on, it was the treatment of enemies. He knew what he wished to accomplish in this matter, but the Kadi would not hear him. It was evident that this man could not be the one prescribed by the prophets of Egypt, yet the Kadi was blind, and weak of spirit. If this stranger, an infidel, had come to them from the Well of Souls, then the enemies of Islam were on the move once more, prowling the hills and vales like restless wolves, intent on devouring the faithful or bending them to heathen creeds.

If they have found the well in the Valley of the Moon, he ruminated, then they must have sent this man through as a spy –or possibly even an assassin, a business the Sami knew only too well. Who was he targeted to? What was his mission? The man would not speak. He was holding to the discipline of his oath and offered insulting lies instead. And to make matters worse, the Kadi would not accede. Why did he harbor the intruder in gilded chambers, with sweetened airs and trays of the finest food and drink?

The Kadi had grown soft and uncertain with age. He was not the man needed here when war would soon beset this land. Cast no seed upon the rocks, he mused. The Kadi had become as dull of mind as the cold stone bricks of the castle itself. He doted upon the scrolls of the prophets and had no will of his own. It was time for a strong hand, for stern measures, and mercy to the enemies of Islam was unseemly in the face of jihad. The Sami knew what he must do. So it was that he selected the pride of his courier birds, a messenger to the distant fastness of Alamut, far to the East. If the Kadi would not hear the wisdom of his arguments, then the Sheikh in Alamut must rule instead.

Tonight he hoped to have his answer, and his eyes brightened to see the dark wings of the birds wheel and swoop above the horned tower, until one came to rest at last on the stony ledge of the window, calling out a welcome, like the trilling voice of the wind that carried it.

Gingerly, the Sami extended his arm, his hand holding out a sweetened date in reward. The sleek bird cocked its head to one side and hopped through the embrasure of the tower lancet. Its gray feathers gleamed in the torchlight as it entered, and the Sami cooed in greeting, a smile pulling the sallow lines of his bearded face. He spied the silver circlet on the bird’s right leg. Tonight he would have his answer from Alamut.

Eagerly he removed the message ring and carried it to a high table beneath the guttering torch that lit this solitary room. His breath quickened as he unlatched the ringlet and pried out the thin strip of cut cloth that would contain his message. He unrolled it slowly, his eyes hoping to find the stain of blood that would sanction him to take matters into his own hands here. The cloth was clear and unblemished. He stared at it, unwilling to believe his eyes. He turned it over and over, as if the message he sought was merely hidden from him by a trick of the light.

The cloth was unstained.

Bitterly, he grasped the tiny strip in his clenched fist, angry and frustrated. Perhaps this was not the final order, he chanced. Perhaps this message was meant for another. The Kadi will have birds aloft as well. This bird may have been meant for him.

He went to the window, expecting to see more dark winged messengers wheeling about the tower. He called out, his voice shrill and demanding, but no bird came. The flock had passed on to the west, as they did each night. Only this one gave pause here.

He turned from the window and struck the high table with his balled fist, startling the courier in a flutter of beating wings. The Sheikh had spoken. The cloth was pure and unstained. Perhaps his silence speaks louder than any command he might give. He chooses not to speak on the matter. It could only mean that he wishes to come to this man himself, so that the stranger might pass the discernment of a more careful eye.

Then a thought occurred to the Sami that gave him pause. Exactly! This is exactly what he should have expected; what the Kadi might presume as well. Why else would he threaten the intervention of the Sheikh to stay my hand in this matter? The Kadi knew that the Sheikh would bend his curiosity around this man, and draw nigh to place him beneath his eye. If this man was sent here as an agent of the Order, how better to draw his victim close!

The Sami paced the dusty stone floor of the Eyrie, his voice muttering his thoughts aloud as they gathered shape in his mind. The stranger was an enemy. He has defiled the Well of Souls, sent here by the Order to work some mischief. Now Sinan comes riding home, and right into the web this man must be weaving. It could not be allowed!

With each step he took his restless spirit infected the messenger that had brought him these tidings. The bird’s wings fluttered and beat the still airs of the room. Then it leapt to the lancet window and was gone, soaring up from the high tower to seek the dry winds and the night.