Darren Shan - The Thin Executioner

“But it’s too late. I’m weary. It was a crazy quest. Forget about them. We’ll stay here and—”

Tel Hesani slapped Jebel sharply. Jebel gaped at him, slack-jawed. Tel Hesani slapped him again. He was raising his hand a third time, when Jebel’s face filled with fury and he pushed himself away.

“What are you doing?” he screamed. “You can’t slap me! You’re a slave! I’ll have you whipped and executed for this!”

“That’s more like it,” Tel Hesani chuckled. “I knew I’d find the old Jebel Rum somewhere within that shell.”

Jebel rubbed his cheek, staring wide-eyed at Tel Hesani. “You slapped me.”

“I had to.” He gripped Jebel’s hands. “We’ve both suffered more than anyone ever should, but we can’t let it break us. We have to go on. I must save my family, and you need to restore your honor.”

“I don’t care about that anymore,” Jebel said. “It seems foolish now. What does honor matter in this world of villains and pain?”

“You won’t think that way when you’re back in Wadi, an executioner, respected by everyone, loved by your father, wed to a beautiful maid.”

Jebel shook his head. “I don’t know. I was… I wouldn’t say happy exactly… but content. I…”

He stopped, realizing he sounded just like Bush and Blair. He trembled, remembering their gruesome end, then wondered if their spirits were taking him over.

“All right,” Jebel said in a rush, sweating at the thought that the ghosts of the dead Masters might appear. “Let’s go to Tubaygat and finish what we started. I don’t care anymore, but we’ll do it if you want. I’m ready.”

“Easy,” Tel Hesani said as Jebel jumped to his feet. “The way north is long and hard. We need to stock up on clothes, blankets, food. We don’t have to rush. A few hours won’t make much difference one way or another.”

Jebel hesitated. “An hour,” he decided. “Pack what you can. Then we’re out of here. At least I am. You can follow whenever you like.”

“An hour,” Tel Hesani agreed, then smiled encouragingly. “I’ll never leave you again. You have my oath. I’ll be with you every step of the way to Tubaygat. After that…” He shrugged. “You won’t need me then, will you?”

“No,” Jebel said, shifting uncomfortably. “I suppose I won’t.”

Then he sat in the darkness, staring at nothing, while Tel Hesani scoured the cave and those beyond in search of materials to aid them in their final push north.

It was a long, tiring, but uncomplicated trek. Winter passed as they marched, and spring came to Abu Saga, longer days, lessening storms, floods as ice and snow melted and fed the rivers and streams. The world turned green around them. New creatures and birds filled the plains and mountains. Boats passed frequently on the as-Sudat, ferrying goods to or from the mines. This was the busiest time of year for the river traders. They carted mounds of iron and minerals south, while others shipped supplies to the isolated miners, who would be close to starving after the trials of winter.

Jebel and Tel Hesani crossed the river and followed it north along its eastern bank. They were careful not to reveal themselves to anyone, either on the boats or in the villages they passed. When they needed food, they raided sheds in the dead of night, but most of the time they were able to pluck wild berries or hunt goats.

Tel Hesani told Jebel all that had happened to him since they’d been parted, and Jebel recounted his trip downriver with Rakhebt Wadak. Tel Hesani thought the boy must have dreamt it, but Jebel knew it was no dream. He had seen the god of death and struck a bargain with him. Nothing Tel Hesani said could shake his belief in that.

They made good time until they hit the al-Meata, where the path rose. The snows melted there only at the height of summer — and in some of the higher parts, not even then. They cut directly north, following the route of the as-Sudat where they could but having to detour away from it much of the time.

The ground was treacherous. Jebel had assumed that the division of the al-Tawla and al-Meata was purely political, that they were part of the same mountain range. Now he saw that wasn’t so. While they were only separated by the barrier of the as-Sudat, they were entirely different formations. Where the rocks of the al-Tawla were firm, these were brittle and unpredictable. The ground was only an inch thick in some parts, giving way to murderous chasms and pits. It was a simple matter to plummet to your death, so Jebel and Tel Hesani had to pick their way through, moving even slower than they had in the swamps of Abu Nekhele. Sometimes they had to circle for hours before finding a path they could trust.

They spotted many people on the western banks of the as-Sudat, mostly miners and traders. But only a brave or crazed few made their living on the eastern side of the river. They saw a few lonely miners in the distance, some scrawny shepherds and goatherders, but otherwise they had the mountains to themselves.

It was a time for reflection. Jebel had regained some of his vitality and was mildly excited to be closing in on Tubaygat. But he was troubled too and often fell to studying Tel Hesani, trying to imagine himself driving a knife into the Um Kheshabah’s chest or slitting his throat.

It had been easy in the beginning. Tel Hesani was a slave, fit only for execution. Now Jebel considered him a friend. Could he brutally end the older man’s life and send him to the hold of Rakhebt Wadak’s boat?

Jebel knew that he must, or the quest would have been for nothing, but he wasn’t sure that he could. He prayed to the gods to steady his hand when the time came, but he didn’t think they were listening. In a strange sort of way, he almost wished they weren’t.

They came to the point where the as-Sudat branched. One of its main tributaries veered to the west slightly before continuing north. The other cut to the northeast. This was regarded by most people as the key tributary, the true birthplace of the river. If Jebel and Tel Hesani followed this, they would come in the end to the river’s cradle, the legendary mountain of Tubaygat.

They rested at the river fork that night, studying the lights of the mines to the west, trying to count them but losing track after a while, like when a person tries to count the stars. Neither said it, but both were thinking the same thing — this was their last glimpse of civilization. No miners were foolhardy enough to ply their trade east of this point. All shepherds and goatherders kept their flocks far from Tubaygat. Complete desolation lay ahead of them. They were bidding farewell to the world of man, and at least one of them would never see it again.

“Do you think there’s a god in Tubaygat?” Jebel asked.

Tel Hesani squinted. “Why ask me that now? You never doubted before.”

Jebel shrugged, not wanting to admit out loud that he no longer had faith in the teachings of his elders. “It’s been decades since anyone successfully petitioned Sabbah Eid. What if the legends aren’t true, or if he returned to the heavens? What if we get there and it’s just a mountain?”

Tel Hesani was silent for a long time. Then he sighed. “Tubaygat is revered by races all over Makhras. It has to be more than an ordinary mountain. I’m not sure what we’ll find, but I’m certain it’s a place of mystery and wonder.”

“But if it’s not,” Jebel pressed. “If Sabbah Eid doesn’t exist. Do we return to Wadi? Will people believe we’ve come all this way if I return unchanged?”

Tel Hesani smiled grimly. “The Um Aineh are a wary, ungracious people. I wouldn’t hold out much hope of them accepting your word.”

“They’d probably execute me,” Jebel said glumly.