The Djinn (3 page)

“Nay, not quite from hell,” the Hob said as if reading his
mind. “But I’ve been there.”

Horatio wasn’t quite sure what the creature meant. He
wasn’t quite sure of anything, actually, except for the suffocating horror that
coursed through his blood at that moment.

“
Wh
-
what do you want with me?” Horatio managed with a great
deal of effort. “What do you want?”

The creature paused for several seconds in thought. Its
head tilted slightly, looking up into the night sky in thought. It turned to
face the knight again.

“It’s simple. I’ve come to free the prisoners your lord
uses as slave labor to dig his tunnels. You know…the ones you are standing
sentry for.”

“Prisoners?
I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

A snarl from the creature told Horatio he wasn’t buying the
lie.

“All right, all right,” said Horatio, a voice squeaking. “I
do know, but it’ll do you no bit of good. They're heavily guarded. You’ll not
be getting close enough to even glance at them, much less free them."

Another chuckle erupted from the creature's bowels.

"You misunderstand, sir knight," it hissed.
"The deed is already done. They have already been freed and the few guards
that survived have been taken as my
own
prisoners."

Horatio's throat went dry at the news.

"Taken?" he asked. "Like the others?"

The Djinn merely nodded.

"So, d-do you plan to take me as well? Did…did you
take my squire too?”

The creature stared at his captive for several long
seconds. He seemed to be savoring the knight’s ordeal. Horatio felt the sudden
urge to vomit, but willed himself against it.

“Have no fear, sir knight,” said the creature. “You will
better serve me in other ways. I want to give you a message to relay to your
lord.”

“A…a message?”
Horatio could hardly control his voice. “What message?”

“It’s simple. I want Gregory’s mad quest to end. I want him
and those who follow him to leave this land. But most importantly, I want
Gregory’s personal quest to cease.”

That confirmed it. Only a creature in league with the devil
would desire God’s holy army to withdraw from such a noble mission. The baron
and his knights had been sanctioned by the Pope himself…sent to Jerusalem for a
very special task. They had the blessing of God Himself. Any creature who
sought to undermine such a sacred endeavor could only come from the Evil One.

Horatio felt his fear waning. Righteous indignation burned
in his breast and contempt for the demonic beast before him outweighed any
dread he had once harbored.

“Never, foul creature!” said Horatio. “We will never
surrender to the devil or his henchmen. I’m not sure what Baron Gregory is
searching for, but I’m sure it is to honor the Most High God!”

The Hob glared at the upside down knight. To the knight’s
surprise, a roar of laughter erupted from the creature’s throat—not a menacing
evil laugh as the Hob had released before, but one of genuine mirth. Horatio
wasn’t sure he liked this laughter any better. It was completely unexpected and
it unnerved the beleaguered knight beyond what he would have thought possible.

The creature sheathed its sword in a leather scabbard, stretched
his arm back and brought it swiftly across Horatio’s backside. It wasn’t a
brutal hit at all, but one that comrades in arms might land when goading the
other in jest.

“I like you, sir knight!” the creature said. “Aye, I like
you a great deal. You have a spine after all. It’s something your fellow
crusaders should learn from you.”

The Hob’s other hand suddenly released the cord and Horatio
fell helplessly to the ground in a blur of motion. The knight wasn’t sure he
was better off having been released from his aerial prison. Upon standing up
from the dirt, he found himself surrounded by a maelstrom of smoke and
brimstone, cutting off all light and breathable air. Horatio gagged on the
rancid fumes as he tried desperately to retrieve his fallen sword.

But the creature had disappeared. Terror gripped Horatio’s
heart once more. Would the Hob strike now that his guard was down? Would he
finally be carried away to the dark recesses of the earth that hobs were known
to dwell?

“Tell Gregory this,” said the Hob’s strange and distant
voice. Horatio couldn’t make out where it was coming from. It sounded as if it
was coming from inside
his own
head. “Tell him that
the Djinn
has
marked him for his treacheries. Tell him
that I know of his plans and will not allow him to carry them out. Tell him to
leave now or he will face me soon enough.”

Horatio could only hack at the sulfurous smoke now burning
a path to his lungs.

“And dear Horatio,” said the voice, “remain steadfast,
young knight, and you may one day see the truth for what it is…not what you
wish it to be.”

With a flurry of wind, the presence of the Hob was gone—the
lingering plumes of brimstone the only evidence that it had ever been there at
all. Horatio had survived. He had encountered the grim spirit and lived to tell
the tale. He could think of nothing but to fall to his knees and thank the Lord
for his deliverance.

His praises were soon interrupted by a strange murmuring
from behind a large boulder to Horatio’s right. The
knight
stood, drew his blade once more and carefully tread
around the
stone—cautious of an ambush.

But a smile quickly replaced the scowl he’d been wearing
since first encountering the Djinn at the sight of Samuel, trussed up by ropes
and gagged with a cloth strip and laying prone on the ground. Despite a few
bumps and abrasions, his poor squire appeared to be fine.
Just
one more thing for the knight to be grateful for.
Despite the boy’s
irritating ways, Horatio truly cared for Samuel. He was pleased to find him
safe and not stuffed waste deep in some dank hob hole.

****

Twenty-three minutes later, he and his dazed squire found
themselves stumbling into Lord Gregory’s palace.

He’s definitely
not going to like this
, was all that
Horatio could think as he made his way through the vast hallway toward his
master’s study.
He’s not going to like
this one bit
.

Baron Gregory
De
L’Ombre
hated Palestine. He hated the unbearable
heat. He hated the stench and beasts of burden that perpetuated their foul odor
wherever one might
breath
. He despised the
people—whether the few remaining Jews that still resided in the land or Muslim;
or even Christian for that matter. He loathed its history and the ridiculous
fanaticism that came with it.

Though he never
vocalized it, the truth was, Gregory longed to see the wet, cool shores of home
once again…to be rid of this God-forsaken place forever. His beautiful and
loving daughter, Isabella, had never seen the land of her fathers. She had been
born here in
Outremer
and had never
known the pleasures of truly civilized life. It was his single greatest regret
since the death of her mother—attempting to raise such a precious child in so
horrid a place. He could not wait to return home and introduce her to the land
where God—if such a being existed—truly dwelt. France.

But that simply
wasn’t to be.
At least, not yet.
The baron still had
things to accomplish and he could not move forward with his plans until he
found the secret that would secure the Christians’ position in Jerusalem
forever.
And once he had it…now
that
would change everything.
The world would be a vastly
different place and he, for his part in the discovery, would be made nothing
less than an emperor.

He’d long ago
given up on the Pope’s promise him. His Holiness had sent him here personally, along
with his traitorous brother William, for the most trivial of matters and for
the most ridiculous of rewards. But Gregory was no simpleton. He would not be
manipulated by the Holy See as so many before him had been. He had plans of his
own and would not be denied.

Still, the
papal commission itself came with immense benefits.
Benefits
that Gregory intended to use to his full advantage.
But his own plans
could not be realized until he found what he’d been searching for. Found the
two items that would give him almost limitless power. Quite literally, power as
limitless as the very sands of the
Outremer
.

But apparently,
now was not the time to reflect on his mission. No. Now was the time for inane
superstitions and bumbling fools.

This
Djinn
was truly becoming a nuisance. At first, Gregory had
found the very notion rather quaint. He had toyed with the gullible minds of
his knights with tales of goblins from back home and had even encouraged them
to seek out the vile spirit for the sake of God’s kingdom.
In
hindsight, perhaps, not the best of ideas.
But he had felt that such a
supernatural enemy would keep the men sharp and more alert than they had been
of late. After all, Saladin, the Sultan of Egypt, was amassing power and had
his eyes fixed on the
Holy City
.
Already, a handful of Muslim tribes aligned with the Saracen war-chief had
begun sacking minor villages throughout the kingdom. Gregory’s knights had to
be prepared for anything until he’d succeeded in his quest and an evil specter
was just the thing to keep the men on edge.

But the legend
was growing out of control and nothing seemed to stop it. The Djinn seemed to
be everywhere now.
Waylaying a traveling textile merchant
from Antioch.
Viciously attacking a squad of weary
foot soldiers trudging through the desert from Damascus.
And now this attack on one of his most trusted knights and the
caravan transporting his recently acquired slaves.

Thankfully,
he’d had the foresight to transfer the Essene monk by different route. If the
Djinn had managed to free him, Gregory’s plans would have sorely been hindered.
After all, it was the Essenes that guarded the secret he’d been seeking for so
long now.
Guardians of an ancient knowledge that would completely
decimate his enemies.
And it was the baron’s hope that this one monk
would, with no little
persuasion
from
his mercenary Gerard, reveal those same secrets to him.

But if
this Djinn
continued with its own personal crusade, all of
his planning and hard work would be for naught.

The baron
sighed as he looked up from his writing desk at the cowering knight before him.
“Let me get this straight,” Gregory said to Horatio standing at attention in
the center of his great hall. “You are actually telling me that this evil
spirit swooped down from the sky, levitated you six feet in the air, and told
you to warn me away from my post? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“No,
m’lord
…I mean, yes,
m’lord
,” he
squirmed under Gregory’s gaze. The knight’s squire, Samuel, fidgeted behind
him, never looking up from the stone floor. “That’s exactly what happened. I
would have never believed it myself, but not that I saw it with my own eyes!”

Gregory stood
quietly from his chair—not quite a throne, but he imagined it might be some
day—and walked toward the cabinet that contained his wine.

“And you say
this creature, this ‘
djinn
’ as the locals call it,
was not human?” Gregory poured the dark crimson liquid into a silver mug. It
was perhaps one the best things about this place…the wine. He savored a small
portion of the drink in his mouth as he watched the knight from the corner of
his eyes. A stream of the liquid snaked through the rumpled course hairs of his
salt and peppered beard, dripping onto his light blue tunic.

“Well, I can’t
say for sure,
m’lord
,” Horatio said. “All I can say
is that he seemed to be made of nothing more than smoke and darkness. The
shadows themselves, they came alive around him, and his voice was like the
sound of some wild beast from the dark country.”

Gregory whirled
around, glowering at his knight. Swallowing the wine that had been swishing
around his mouth, a cold smile spread across his face. His right eye, pupil
grayed over and completely sightless, twitched. This was perhaps the most
ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. He couldn’t believe he was wasting his valuable
time on such fables.

“Horatio, my
dear friend,” said Lord Gregory as he walked over to the knight, placed an arm
around his shoulder and began leading him toward the door. “Here is my
suggestion to you: the next time you so nobly go out on your patrol and the
creature sees fit to pounce upon you and you do nothing at all to stop him…”
Gregory paused for effect. “Go ahead and beg him to kill you, because you will
find no more mercy from me.”

With that,
Gregory removed his arm from Horatio’s shoulder and shoved him out the door. He
then spun around and nearly slammed into the still, but trembling form of
Samuel.

“I caught a
glimpse of the dark beastie
m’self
,” said Samuel.
“Although I was unconscious most of the time.
Want my report
too,
m’lord
?”

The baron
glanced at one of the large bodyguards at the door and nodded to the squire.
Without a word, the guard grabbed Samuel by the arms and tossed him out the
door. Gregory sauntered to his chair, where he ceremoniously plunged himself in
a huff.

This was beyond
ridiculous. He had too many preparations to make to divide his time with ghost
stories. Whatever was going on out there, Gregory knew that something needed to
be done. It was simply a matter of pure good fortune that the creature had not
removed his one advantage from his grasp—the Essene. He might not be so lucky
next time. No, this dark spirit had to be dealt with.

But as in any
strategy, it was imperative that sound intelligence of one’s foe must be
gathered and there was no one within Gregory’s own court that could provide the
necessary information. There was only one person who might be able to shed
light on the subject, though he was loath to approach him.

The baron’s
younger brother, William, was considered a traitor by all the nobles of the
Kingdom.
And rightly so.
Being the second born in the
family, William had no choice but to follow one of two paths—knighthood or
priesthood. He had nobly chosen the path of the warrior and had fought bravely
in many battles. That is, until fifteen years ago when he was defeated in an
attempt to quell a rebel uprising.

William had
suffered severe injuries and was taken prisoner by a band of nomadic Saracens.
They had demanded ransom for him, but Gregory, having no desire to share his
aspirations with his brother, had refused to pay.

Rumor had it
that when William’s injuries failed to heal properly, a well-respected sheik in
the area took him in and nursed him back to health. It was discovered soon
afterwards that William suffered from leprosy—an ailment that many people
attributed to God as an act of punishment. For William was soon adopted by the
sheik as his own son, an offense to both Christians and Muslims alike. William
had accepted the adoption and had, in that single moment, renounced his
Christian heritage in the eyes of his family and the Church.

Of course,
Gregory could care less about his religion. In his eyes, religion was merely a
magnificent tool to gain enumerable wealth and power. And he had wielded that
tool skillfully—unlike his brother, who sought after nobler things such as
philosophy, science, and rhetoric.

Still, despite
his shortcomings, Gregory’s brother had developed a deep knowledge and
understanding of the customs and beliefs of the infidels. If anyone knew
anything about this creature the Saracens called the Djinn, it would be
William. And despite his misgivings, Gregory prepared himself for a trip to his
brother’s palace.

****

William’s
physician,
Tufic
, was as insufferable as ever when
Gregory announced himself at the entrance. His thin, wiry frame barred the way
into the palace doorway as he glared at the baron.

“I’m sorry, my
lord,” the Saracen doctor said. “But Sir William cannot be disturbed. He is
feeling rather frail this morning and needs his rest. I’m truly sorry, but you
will need to come back at another time.”

“Nonsense!
My brother may play the part of an invalid to
gain sympathy from the others, but he’ll get no such thing from me.”

“But I really
must insist…”

Before
Tufic
could muster another protest, Gregory and his two bodyguards
pushed past and stormed through the cavernous vestibule that greeted the few
who visited William’s palace.

Palace.
What a joke
, thought Gregory as he made
his way to his brother’s bedchambers. It was little more than a large tent
erected in the desert nearly ten miles north of Jerusalem. It was opulent, to
be sure, and contained numerous large rooms. But Gregory would hardly consider
it palatial.

The walls of
the tent were tall, running nearly twenty feet into the air. Made of pure
crimson silk, they were inlaid with Moslem symbols and letters embroidered from
golden thread. Large Persian rugs lined the wooden floors while expensive
furnishings from the Far East littered every room with decadent abandon.

His brother
certainly knew how to live well, despite his circumstances. Since William,
being the youngest, had been unable to inherit Gregory’s title of Baron, his
brother had made do and had become a sheik instead. It would have been
impressive indeed if the title carried any weight with the people from the
region. But no Muslim could honestly bow down to a Westerner playing at sheik.
And no Westerner would waste his breath on a Christian who became an infidel.

Complicating
matters further, William’s leprosy was in its advanced stages now, and well,
his life really meant very little to anyone of importance. He was doubly cursed
and Gregory found an odd satisfaction in that.

The baron could
smell his brother before he saw him. The disease that played havoc against
William caused a most foul stench from his bedchambers. It smelled of rotten,
decomposing flesh…an odor that the baron had become all too familiar with since
coming to the
Outremer
.

Gregory quietly
slid a velvet curtain aside and stepped into William’s chambers. The baron
wasn’t surprised at all to find his brother bent over an altar in prayer.
William had always been the more devout of the two brothers…whether to a
Christian or Muslim god.

The older
brother stood in the doorway; arms folded over his tunic. After a few moments,
he cleared his throat, prompting William to turn his head. The baron gasped
involuntarily at the grotesque visage that stared back at him. The younger
man’s face was grossly deformed with snow white skin resembling a corpse pulled
from the Jordan, with hair just as pallid. Nodules of puss and boils layered
over his features, completely distorting the handsome qualities he once had.
His nose had long since been surgically removed from his face to allow for
clearer breathing and the flesh around his lips had all but disappeared, giving
him an almost skeletal resemblance. William truly was as repulsive as his
stench suggested.

“Forgive me,”
William said as he arose, walked over to a night table, and began wrapping his
head with linen bandages. Gregory noted that his brother appeared more stooped
than the last time they had spoken. “I wasn’t expecting company. Had I but
known, I would surely have prepared myself to avoid bringing any discomfort to
you, my brother.”

Gregory waited
impatiently as his brother worked shakily to cover his face. He walked over to
the center of the room and plopped down amid the pile of plush silk pillows
that were used for lounging in such homes.