Darren Shan - The Thin Executioner

“I hope so, Bas,” Jebel sighed. “She’s so beautiful, so exquisite…. But I want her heart as well as her face.”

Bastina stifled a snort — she didn’t think the high maid had a heart! — and asked a question about the Um Saga, to change the subject and take Jebel’s mind off the pretty but petty girl who would in a few days be his life-bound bride.

The day of the mukhayret dawned bright. The crowds had started to gather in the hours before sunrise. Excitement had been at fever pitch all week but escalated to fresh heights as news spread of Jebel Rum’s return. While almost nobody believed that the frail, skinny boy had met Sabbah Eid, they couldn’t be certain until they saw him in action. And if they were wrong about him… well, it was rare to be present when a new executioner was appointed, but if that executioner turned out to be a successful quester, it was more than the chance of a lifetime — it was the chance of a millennium.

The area around the competition fields was packed solid by the time of the first event. There would be ten events in total to test the speed, strength, and skill of the sixteen entrants. Four fields had been set aside, and two events would be staged in each. Another would take part in the river, and one on the streets of Wadi, where the entrants would have to run a ten-mile race beneath the blazing midday sun.

Mukhayrets normally didn’t draw a lot of entrants. Nobody wanted to be beaten and disgraced in front of a large crowd, so only those who truly believed themselves capable of winning put their names forward. But on this occasion there were many worthy competitors — seven from Wadi (three from the one family, which was unheard of), the rest from various parts of Abu Aineh.

J’Al and J’An Rum were two of the favorites. There were a couple of others strongly fancied by wagerers, but most of the serious gamblers were betting on Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh. He had been born in Abu Aineh but raised in Abu Judayda. He was a huge, steely-eyed young man. The others would have to perform to their highest standards to defeat the Um Judayda.

Jebel was the dark horse of the tournament. Almost nobody had bet on him, and there were only scattered, ironic cheers when his name was announced.

The first four events were tests of strength: rock throwing, two rounds of javelins — one with each hand — and weights. The weakest entrant would be eliminated from each event.

The young men drew straws to determine their order. J’Al was to go second, Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh eighth, Jebel eleventh, and J’An fifteenth.

Jebel studied the crowd as the first four contestants prepared to throw their rocks. Every class of um Wadi was present, the rich jostling for position with the poor. Except for the high lord’s box, there was no elitism at a mukhayret. You had to come early and be prepared to use your elbows to get a good view.

Jebel was especially interested in the people sitting with the high lord and his family. His father was there, and several of the city’s highest officials. But only Debbat Alg caught Jebel’s eye. She looked more stunning than ever. She had spent the last two days preparing for this. It was common knowledge that the winner of the mukhayret would almost certainly choose her to be his wife, and she wanted to look her best when her big moment came. Jebel’s stomach flipped when he saw her, and for the first time since his return he was glad to be involved in the competition.

To the sound of a mighty roar, the four contestants lobbed their rocks down the field. J’Al’s rock went the second farthest, so he was guaranteed a place in the next round. But he wasn’t happy with his throw, and Jebel saw him scowling as he returned.

The next four threw, and Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh’s rock went farther than anyone else’s. The crowd murmured nervously. Though he had the right by birth to participate in the mukhayret, nobody wanted to see an outsider win. The crowd could only hope that he was all brute strength and would slip up in the events where more skill was required.

Jebel was up next, with the third batch of throwers. His stomach fluttered as he stepped forward. He hadn’t tested himself since returning from Tubaygat. What if his powers had faded? Even if they hadn’t, how would he know his limits? He didn’t want to put all of his energy into the first few events in case he exhausted himself and faded later. But what if he held back too much and crashed out in the first round?

Jebel picked up a rock about the size of a boar’s head and was still trying to decide how much effort to put into it when the whistle blew. Panicking, he stepped forward and threw the stone wildly.

Jaws dropped long before the rock came down. It sailed far past any of the others, and over the heads of the people who’d gathered at the end of the field, where officials had thought they were well out of harm’s way. With yelps and screams they scattered. When the rock hit the earth, it had traveled three times the distance of Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh’s.

There was a long, stunned silence. Everyone tore their eyes away from the rock and gaped at the thin, ragged figure of Jebel Rum.

Then the cheering began.

There had never been such a noise in Wadi. With one throw, Jebel had won over all doubters. It had been so long since a successful quester had returned from Tubaygat that many had begun to think that the old legends were nothing but stories told to amuse gullible children. Now they saw that the myths were history. Gods did walk among them. So they cheered not just for Jebel but for their renewed faith.

The last quartet threw their rocks, but they knew they were throwing simply to avoid elimination — no ordinary human could match Jebel’s throw.

Jebel experimented in the next two rounds. When throwing the javelin with his left hand, he put less effort into it, to see what he could do without testing his limits. He finished a safe third, and although the crowd was disappointed, most guessed that he was conserving his strength. Many rushed ahead of the contestants to the next field, to catch another glimpse of him in action.

When throwing with his right hand, Jebel put a bit more power into it, and this time he won the event, although in less spectacular fashion than the first.

The weights proved to be a letdown. One of the contestants had pulled a muscle in his back while throwing the javelin. He gave his best but couldn’t lift even the first set of weights, so the event stopped there, before the others could move on to a higher level.

The first wrestling event was next. The contestants were paired off by drawing straws. The six winners would progress, then the other six would wrestle again, with the three winners of the second heat joining the first six in the next round.

There was a great buzz when J’Al Rum was drawn against his younger brother, Jebel. As the first pair of youths faced each other, Jebel stepped over to have a word with J’Al.

“Best of luck,” he said, offering his hand.

“You too,” J’Al said, looking distracted.

“Are you all right?” Jebel asked.

J’Al shook his head and sighed. “Have you ever had one of those days where you get the feeling that nothing’s going to go your way?”

“Often,” Jebel said with a rueful smile.

“This is one of them,” J’Al said glumly. “I felt it when I threw the rock. The gods are against me today.”

In such a negative frame of mind, J’Al was defeated even before they locked grips. Jebel threw him easily, then pinned him after a brief struggle. It came as no surprise when J’Al was beaten again in the second round and made an early exit. Jebel felt sorry for his brother, but then again, J’Al had always wanted to travel, and now he would have that chance. In some ways it was for the best that he’d lost.