Hasan - A Novel Part 3

He couldn't stand it any longer! He aimed the blade, flexed his wrist . . . and relaxed again, unable to proclaim the cowardice he felt. His heart beat loudly in his ears; he counted the beats, seeking distraction. He grew faint from the suffocating miasma-then realized with hysteric amuse- ment at his stupidity that all he had to do was put his lips to the sewn portion of the hide and suck fresh air in through the holes.

He did this, heedless of the cracking blood that peeled off to smear his lips, and found blessed relief. But this only freed his awareness for other problems. The tempera- ture, instead of declining, rose steadily as the sun beat down outside and his own body added heat to the cramped cavity. He slipped and slid in the jelly formed by his sweat and the juices of the camel meat, and a kind of delirium clouded his senses. What if there were leeches outside, big ones, and a monster leech came, four, five inches long, and fastened itself upon his exposed lips? Or a great blue scorpion.

How many hours had pa.s.sed? It had been midday when he entered this prison. It would be cool when night came, and it certainly hadn't cooled yet. Probably he had lain here less than an hour-but what an hour! How much more would he have to endure? Would the roc ever come? Did he really want it to? What if it picked him up, changed its mind and dropped him?

As though this cheering thought were the signal, a power- ful beating of the air began, sending a cooling draft past his face. It was too late to change his mind. The big bird was coming!

He tried to peer out through the sutures, but he could see nothing but the b.l.o.o.d.y ground. The carca.s.s rocked with a final blast of wind. There was a thud! as of some- thing heavy landing, and surprisingly innocent clucking. A bird, even a big one, was still a bird.

The ground vibrated as the thing hopped toward him. There was a sudden, severe jar. It was pecking at the meat, testing it for edibility. Suppose it tried to feed right here? What if its sharp bill accidentally cut through the cord, so that the st.i.tches unraveled and let the carca.s.s fall open in mid-air? Why had he ever allowed himself to be subjected to this?

The carca.s.s shook and the upper wall depressed against him heavily. The bird was on top of it, crushing him! A giant thorn, a hooked spear poked through the wall inches from his face. It was a talon of horrifying size. Six inches long, an inch thick at the base . . . and what he saw was only the tip of it, since the rest was outside a fair thickness of gristle. This bird was timid?

The monstrous beat of wind began again, a hurricane of air smashing the ground. Dust swirled into his breathing-hole. The roc was taking off! The carca.s.s jolted and tilted crazily, sliding him helplessly back and forth as it b.u.mped over the ground. Then it was airborne, riding smoothly in the grip of the mighty claws.

Hasan contemplated the one visible nail. Was it really strong enough to bear his weight? Suddenly it seemed thin and slight.

Up and up: he felt the circling ascent. If only the position allowed him to see! But that would probably terrify him; he was better off as it was, merely deathly afraid. If the bird didn't grow forgetful and carelessly let go-!

The flight seemed interminable, yet Hasan had hardly become accustomed to it before it was over. There was a tooth-rattling b.u.mp! as the claw retracted and released its load. The carca.s.s rolled over and over, bringing him vi- sions of an uncontrolled drop over the precipice, before coming safely to rest. He grasped his knife and sliced the binding immediately. The roc might not be timid-but he could hardly afford to let it feed while he remained inside the morsel.

There was another blast of air and a ponderous wing-thunder as he struggled to emerge. A shadow pa.s.sed over him. Was it attacking?

No. The bird was taking flight. It certainly was shy! By the time he had freed himself and was able to look around, it was gone.

He had seen no more of it than a single claw.

The air on the mountaintop was bright and heavenly cool. Hasan was caked with noxious grime, but he forgot this in a moment as he took deep breaths and looked around.

The summit was level and gra.s.sy, with a few trees down a little on the northern slope. To the south, the direction from which he had come, the cliffs dropped off alarm- ingly; he could see the sky come down to the mountain's edge and go below. The view was astonishing, particularly to one who had spent his life in lowlands: a vast panorama of forested mountains, extending most of the way around him, diminishing into plains with irregular patches of gra.s.s- land and jungle, and finally the sea, a bright blue band on the horizon.

He had thought the day was cloudy (though the heat of the sun upon the carca.s.s could not have been his imagina- tion), but up here it plainly was not. The clouds existed beauteously, but were only fluffs decorating the larger view.

"Glory be to Allah, the Merciful, the Mighty!" he exclaimed, absorbed in a magnificence that was fit for nothing less than worship.

Belatedly he remembered his purpose here. He walked to the edge, looked down upon the forest-carpeted folds and tucks of the earth far, far below his feet and reeled back, horrified at the immense height. Now indeed he was thankful he hadn't witnessed this journey to the peak!

He got down on hands and knees and advanced again, finally spreading himself out flat and crawling the last few feet. He poked his head over, clutching at the dirt with tense fingers, and looked down dizzily.

If he had not stood in awe of the power of Allah before, this spectacle would have made him a convert.

"Bahram!" he called, afraid that he might by the effort of shouting blow himself off the cliff, so tenuous did his contact with the ground seem. "Baah-raam!"

A few seconds later there was an answering call, and he located the Persian, a tiny figure dancing about and wav- ing his turban excitedly in the air.

"What now?" Hasan yelled.

"Move over to your left a hundred paces and tell me what you see," Bahram called back, pointing ineffectually.

Hasan backed off until he felt safe enough to stand, counted off his paces, and looked around. He saw gra.s.s, bushes, flowers, and a number of disinteresting sticks of weathered wood. There was also a rounded white object the size of a bowl. He picked it up, turned it over . . . and found himself looking into the square eye-sockets of a human skull.

He dropped it immediately, then chided himself for his foolishness. The man had long been dead; the skull was bleached and clean. It was sad that he had not been properly buried, but perhaps he had been an infidel. He looked more carefully and saw other bones of the body spread about.

Did the rocs prey on men after all? They might, if the man were already dead. In any event, the ants and other insects would pick the skeleton clean soon enough. Since he saw no sign of broken or crushed bones, that had probably been the case here.

But why had the man-he a.s.sumed it was a man, since it would hardly be polite to look upon the naked bones of a woman-why had this man died up here in the first place?

Something uncomfortable was gnawing at his mind. A man had come here, perhaps by the same route he had employed himself. That man had died. What could have killed him? Hasan had seen nothing deadly here, and he was armed with the knife. What had he missed?

He put the unpleasant train of thought from his mind. It had been an accident, a.s.suredly. He crawled back to the edge of the mountain and put his head over. "All I see are bones and sticks of wood," he called to the Persian.

"Good," Bahram replied. "That is the herb we seek. The wood. Gather it into six bundles, tie them with the thong I used to bind you into the camel, and throw them down to me."

"Wouldn't it be easier to bring the wood with me when I come down myself?"

Bahram grew angry. "Do as I say, boy, and don't ask foolish questions!"

Hasan's doubt continued, but he shook it off and lost himself in action. As he picked up the pieces of wood he encountered several more skeletons; some comparatively new, like the first, and some so old they were rotting away. His sense of foreboding grew. One dead man might represent an accident ... but six, eight? How had they come here, and what macabre fate had stalked them all?

He pulled the cord loose and cut it into suitable lengths to bind the bundles of wood. It was strange-the wood looked ordinary, and he could not fathom why it should be important. But he did not question the magician's profes- sional competence: he had seen his own copper trans- formed into gold. Perhaps the art lay in recognizing the magic properties of materials that appeared nondescript to the layman.

He brought the bundles to the edge. "Where do you want them?" he called. He noticed that the sun was low in the sky; he had, as foretold, been up here several hours.

"Fling them out toward me as far as you can," Bahram called back. He was not standing at the very base of the mountain, and in any event, several of the rock faces were slanted, so that the wood was likely to be snagged unless heaved far out.

Hasan stepped back, stood up, and swung the first bundle over the edge. He immediately fell p.r.o.ne and crawled to the edge to observe its progress. It had been a good throw-the wood sailed far out, then dropped grace- fully down. It still crashed into the lower faces, but slid across them harmlessly and came to rest in the forest at the base. The magician would have to bestir himself to fetch the wood, but at least it was accessible.

"That's good," Bahram agreed. "Try to place the oth- ers near it." Hasan obliged, and was pleased to see three of the remaining bundles land practically on top of the first and another fall near it. The last went wide when his foot slipped, and crashed far to the side.

Dusk was falling-or rather, he saw now from the clarity of his elevation, rising; for the gullies and valleys were already dark, while the mountains and sky were light. "How do I get down?" he called, not wishing to be trapped the night with the skeletons.

Laughter came up from the shadows. "Down? Isn't it obvious?"

"Would I have to ask, if it were?" Hasan replied irritably.

"Oh, I have known some handsome lads, but none quite so foolish as you!" Bahram said. "Why, you jump down, boy!"

"But I would be dashed to pieces against the rocks!"

"Abide on the mountain, then, if you do not trust your G.o.d to bear you up. You're in good company!" And he laughed again, harshly, and spoke no more.

Hasan finally understood the reason for the skeletons. Bahram had boasted that he had slain a thousand youths- counting Hasan himself-and while that figure was proba- bly exaggerated, he had certainly been responsible for a goodly number. One lad had been delivered here each year or so, just as he had been, and all had been rewarded in the same manner. Rather than perish in quick suicide, all these on the mountain had chosen to starve. Probably there were more bones, broken ones, at the foot of the moun- tain, representing those who had chosen the other method.

Why hadn't he questioned the Persian before undertak- ing the flight with the roc? Surely he should have secured his escape before stranding himself. "There is no majesty and there is no might, except in Allah!" he said fervently, and knew himself to be the fool Bahram had claimed. He had had ample evidence of the magician's nature, yet had listened to the artful words and shut his mind to the implications. He had refused to believe that a man could be inherently evil, even a Persian. He was, as had also been pointed out, in good company.

Darkness came upon the Mountain of Clouds in magnif- icent array, and the day was over. Hasan sat amid bones and sobbed, certain that his day was over, too.

He was hungry in the morning. He felt better, though he knew his situation to be as desperate as before. He found himself in a bed of gra.s.s that he did not at first remember fashioning, and miraculously free of leeches.

He went to the stinking camel-hide and took out the bottle of water and the cakes. He no longer noticed the smell of them, and gulped them down rapidly.

Sunrise was magnificent. As he watched, a giant cone of darkness lay over the world to the west, the shadow of the mountain. As the sun rose this cone shortened, clock- ing the dawn like the sundial of Allah. The landscape in every direction was preternatually clear, and Hasan felt glad to be alive, even for a little while.

He used some of his precious water to wash himself, so that he might be clean for his morning prayer. Allah's will would be accomplished, whatever a lone Believer might do-but a True Believer was more likely to have a beneficent fate mapped out than was a person of timorous faith. The moment Hasan neglected his homage to Allah, he would be confessing the insincerity of his worship, and therefore would know himself to deserve nothing.

He rose after the prayer and looked at the view again. Suddenly a glint caught his eye. It was to the northwest, a bright green flash in the darker green of the jungle and brush. The palace! The one Bahram hated, because it was the residence of enemies, of jinn and ghouls.

Surely, if the residents were antagonistic to the Persian, they were friends of Hasan! Even ghouls!

But he did not really believe that ghouls were there, for they were ugly creatures who had no appreciation of beauty. Their place was the crypt, not the palace. Surely persons of n.o.bility dwelt therein. If only he could reach it. ...

He walked north, toward the trees he had seen before. If that slope were forested, he should be able to navigate it.

His hopes were short-lived. There was forest, but too much of it. It was a tropical jungle far denser than any they had encountered below. The trees were very large and were covered with the sword-sharp thorn vines that he knew from experience he could cut through only very tediously. There was a dense undergrowth of fern and bamboo, also intertwined with the horrible th.o.r.n.y vines. He might hack his way through that jungle with his little knife at the rate of a thousand paces a day. It might take ten days to reach the foot of the mountain.

Hasan had no food and very little water. There were probably fruits in the forest, but he did not know which ones were edible and which were poisonous. Bahram had gathered the berries of a certain plant, informing him that the seeds contained the most deadly poison known to man.

The magician had also spoken of vines that produced the nefarious bhang, the intoxicant that Hasan himself had fallen victim to at the beginning of this venture. How could he risk eating such things now?

There was animal life; he could hear it moving deep within the ma.s.s of foliage. The animals should be safe to eat-except that they were most likely to eat him first. He would have scant power to defend himself amidst the stinging brambles.

And what, finally, when he slept? Even at the edge he could see the monstrous leeches, some three inches long. They would suck him dry before the night was over.

No, there was no escape this way. Had there been a navigable trail, Bahram would never have gone to the trouble to fetch innocent boys from faraway Arabian cit- ies. The one-way route of the roc was the only approach.

Hasan returned disconsolately to the cliffs and looked out again. If only there was some way down! Some- There was the briefest glint from a projecting section of the cliff. Was it a mere jewel in the rock-or something more significant? He ran to that section, threw himself flat, and put his head over.

It was metal! There was a chain fastened to a spike embedded in the rock at the top, with little stirrups every three feet. Someone-Allah only knew how long ago, or for what purpose-must have made regular trips to this summit, using the chain. Probably the first journey had been made through the jungle, laboriously forced; or per- haps the roc had somehow been harnessed. After that, the shorter, more dramatic route up the face of the cliff was open.

But why hadn't any of the other youths Bahram snared taken this descent? Hasan had the answer immediately: only through a lucky chance, a single glance in this direction when the sun happened to be in position to reflect a glint off the chain-only this way had he located it at all or even suspected its existence. If someone had told him it was there, it still would have taken him many hours to find it, checking every dangerous foot of the cliff, for the lay of the rock hid it from view.

He could sympathize with the lads before him who had instinctively shied away from the terrifying brink. Those youths had been like him; beautiful, probably pampered, naive. They were hardly fit to cope with this savage dilemma. The logic of Bahrain's selection was becoming more plain. A more rustic youth, or one native to moun- tain country might have solved the problem readily.

Hasan had not been wiser or braver. He had been lucky. Or-Allah had woven a different skein for his life. . . .

He wasted no more time. He drank the last of his water so that he would not have to carry it, performed an auto- matic prayer of thanks, and took hold of the chain. If it were no longer strong enough to sustain his weight, he was doomed anyway, so it was pointless to worry about that.

"Praise be to Allah!" he shouted again, and put his foot into the first stirrup.

The chain held. Hasan climbed down as rapidly as he dared, stopping to rest when his arms grew fatigued. He reached the foot of the chain, which was only a fraction of the total distance down, and found a narrow ledge. Grasp- ing the dangling chain with one hand, he explored the ledge, and came upon another spike and chain leading down.

He descended to a second ledge and then a third. He was hardly aware of time, but the sun changed position considerably as he maneuvered down interminable stages. Near the bottom of the mountain he landed on a ledge, looked for the following chain with bleary eyes and rock-chafed hands, and found only the broken spike that had anch.o.r.ed it. There was no final connection.

It was early afternoon. Suddenly the sky grew dark. A storm was coming up! Hasan searched for shelter, but there was none on this narrow ledge between vertical cliffs. He was far too tired to climb back up to a more secure level before the storm struck. He could not jump; though he was near the end, the remaining distance was suddenly appalling.

He sat down and huddled as tightly as he could against the wall, hoping that the rain would not dislodge him. After the tempest, perhaps he could sever a length of chain from above and hitch it to the lower spike. Would his knife prove strong enough to pry it loose? Meanwhile, he had to keep his position.

The rain dropped upon him. It blasted against the stone, and the howling winds slapped sheets of it about to hiss off the wall and sting his exposed face and hands unmerci- fully. His propped feet began to slide against an abruptly slippery surface; desperately he fumbled for a toehold, a fingerhold, anything to anchor him just a little more securely. After several minutes of this, in a momentary pause of the torrent, he realized that he should have clung to the chain itself. He jumped to reach it.

The wind, like a pouncing jinni, caught him the moment there was s.p.a.ce between his body and the mountain. Too quickly for fear, he was teetering on the edge; then he was falling.

"Allah!" he cried, and tried to recite the funeral prayer, to remember the Koran: but these were hopeless tasks in such straits. He struck- Water. Spluttering, he struggled upward. He had not been trained as a swimmer, but he did know the rudiments. He coughed and choked, but survived. The rain was pouring down again, but, as much by feel and fortune as by sight, he grabbed hold of strong vines and crawled ash.o.r.e.

When the storm had abated he looked about and under- stood the miracle that had saved him. He had fallen into a flash flood formed by the water running off the mountain; already the channel was clearing, leaving a rank empty ditch.

Hasan prostrated himself and gave due thanks to Allah; then he wended his way around the mountain towards the palace of the ghouls.

Chapter 4. Rose.

Two young women, unveiled and fair as moons, sat in the vestibule of the palace, letting the refreshing breeze ruffle their jeweled tresses while they matched wits over a game of chess. Their dress, though elegant, was informal, since they were alone. While they played they chattered merrily about inconsequentials.

The younger girl, though less developed than her com- panion, might easily have been the inspiration for the Persian's description of his daughter. She heard something and looked up alertly.

Hasan stood at the entrance, weary, b.l.o.o.d.y and bedrag- gled. He lurched forward and staggered into the vestibule, reaching for a column to lean against.

His eyes met those of the girl. "Allah!" she exclaimed, astonished but hardly frightened.

The older girl immediately fastened her veil, but the pretty junior was more impulsive. "By Allah, here is a son of Adam!" she sang out joyfully.

Hasan stared at her, too tired to do more than admire her beauty. He had been braced for the foulest of demons and had reconciled himself to begging aid from the most loath- some of enchanted creatures; but these creatures were lovely and this enchantment delightful. Embarra.s.sed, he tried to put away his drawn knife, to brush back the mud-matted hair over his forehead.

"Why, this must be the fair youth that Bahram the Magician brought here this year!" the young girl said, appraising the ragged shape and battered countenance be- fore her with no awareness of incongruity.

Hasan's strength evaporated in the face of this welcome. He threw himself to the floor in supplication. "O my ladies, yes, by Allah, I am that unhappy fool. I am faint and in pain, and I beg your compa.s.sion, for I cannot drag myself any farther."

"O yes!" the girl cried, jumping up. "We will help you."

"Rose! Your veil!" the other reminded her, shocked. "Don't disgrace yourself."

"d.a.m.n the veil! This poor man needs our help," Rose replied hotly. "He's already seen my face." But she paused, aware that nice girls never showed their features indiscriminately. She began to raise her veil, then bright- ened with a fresh idea.

She skipped over to Hasan and put her slender arm around his soggy shoulders. "Bear witness, O my sister, that I hereby adopt this man as my brother, by the cove- nant of Allah, and I will die if he dies and live as he lives, and his joy shall be my joy and his grief my grief, so long as I shall live!"

The older sister looked askance at this sheer impetuousity, but shrugged her shoulders in resignation. The deed was done, after all.

"Now I don't have to cover my face from him, do I?" Rose demanded.

"No, sister."

"And neither do you, because you're my sister and he's my brother and that makes him your brother too. Take off your veil."