The Djinn (6 page)

The captain
rushed through the campsite, leaping over the prone bodies of several of his
soldiers, and finally skidding to a halt at a sight he would never forget. The
smoke had cleared somewhat and Gerard was able to make out the forms of six of
his men surrounding a visage of pure darkness—a manlike creature clothed in a
black billowing cloak and turban. Its eyes burned through the haze with a ghostly
green glow.

Two of his men
charged toward the Djinn, who gripped one man’s wrist, twisting it furiously
and bringing him down to his knees. A nerve-shattering crack sprang out from
his soldier’s arm as bone and tissue rent in a single motion. The creature then
brought one boot down against the soldier’s left ankle—breaking it clean. The
man let out a heart-piercing shriek.

The second
soldier pounced from behind the creature, which stepped effortlessly to the
side, causing Gerard’s man to fall forward to the ground. The
Djinn’s
heavy black boots came down hard against the man’s
head, shattering the spine in several places.

The mercenary
stared impotently at the attack. The creature was a blur of motion and fury
that simply would not be stopped. He knew from witnessing the
Djinn’s
fighting prowess that hand-to-hand combat would
lead to nothing but defeat and probably death. They would need an organized
attack against the monstrosity that threatened them this night.

As the dark
spirit continued battling the fearful soldiers, Gerard found three of his men
who were most formidable with a bow.

“Shoot it,” he
said. “Bring it down now!”

Without
question, the three archers sheathed their swords, took their bows from around
their shoulders, and notched their arrows. In unison, all three shafts sung
through the air, striking their intended target with expert precision. One
arrow struck the creature in the left shoulder. Two others imbedded in the
square of its back, between the shoulder blades.

Seemingly
unfazed by the arrows that pierced its flesh, two more of Gerard’s foot
soldiers fell to the ground as the creature spun around, its cloak gliding
through the air as if made of ethereal mist. The creature barely glanced at the
arrow imbedded in its shoulder as it reached inside its tunic, retrieved three
metal objects, and hurled them through the air simultaneously at Gerard’s
archers. Three thuds preceded the crash of each archer to the ground, a tiny
black dagger protruding from their chests. Mindlessly snapping the arrow’s
shaft off from his shoulder, the Djinn continued its assault on the mercenary’s
soldiers.

Gerard stood
motionless as he watched the onslaught; Archibald swayed spellbound beside him.
The creature danced through the air as if riding the wind itself, whirling and
striking its enemies in multiple sweeps of its arms and legs. The
Djinn’s
movements reminded the captain of the dust devils
and tornadoes that swept through the desert from time to time. One by one, each
of Gerard’s soldiers fell, screaming into the night sky.

Out of the
original fifteen men left to guard the nomadic captives, only four remained
standing. Three had deserted altogether. The rest had fallen—either dead or
severely injured. And the strange beast before them still moved with a fury of
the heathen gods. It simply wasn’t going to let up until every man was down.

Without
warning, Gerard rushed toward the specter that assailed his men; his long
broadsword extended over his head. With a roar, the mercenary lunged, sweeping
the blade in a downward arc—striking toward the
Djinn’s
head.

In an instant,
the head was no longer where it was supposed to be. The creature crouched low
to the ground to avoid the blow, and spun around in one fluid motion with one
foot extended. The sweeping leg struck Gerard from behind, sending him
sprawling backwards onto the ground.

A flash of
light gleamed in the pale moonlight that had eaten its way through the smoky
terrain. Gerard looked up to see the
Djinn’s
broad
scimitar pointed directly at his face.

“Enough!” the
fell creature bellowed. “If anyone else moves, your captain will lose his
head.”

Gerard closed
his eyes tight. He was ready to die, but hoped it would not be tonight. He had
too many plans and now he added revenge against the Djinn to his list. Surely,
he would have his vengeance on the creature if he survived tonight’s encounter.

Thankfully, no
one moved.

“You!” said the
Djinn, pointing to a soldier, blood trailing down his face from a large gash in
his forehead. “Release your prisoners.”

The soldier,
whose name Gerard could not place at that moment, stared wide-eyed at his
captain.

“Do it,” Gerard
said.

Without another
word, the young soldier turned and walked toward the tent that held their
prisoners. Archibald walked over as well and helped him free the tribe from
their chains.

The Djinn
turned its attention back to its fallen foe on the ground. Gerard’s eyes bore
into its veiled turban, trying in vain to distinguish some feature that would
give a clue as to who or
what
the
Djinn really
was
. Having watched the demon move and
fight, the mercenary was convinced that the being that had plagued Gregory and
his men for the last several months could not possibly be a man—it was a
monster straight from the pits of Hell. Still, with its turban wrapped so tight
around its features, there was no way to discern anything of the
Djinn’s
appearance save the glowing green eyes that stared
back at him.

The black clad
figure looked up in the sky for a moment and sent out a sharp whistle. Within
seconds, the shriek of the falcon signaled its swift descent to its master,
where it alighted on the
Djinn’s
left forearm.
Gerard’s assailant turned its eyes back to the captain who was still sprawled
out on the ground.

“I have eyes
everywhere, murderer,” said the Djinn. “I know what you did. I know what you
have done. And your treachery will not go unpunished.”

“Go hang
yourself, demon!” spat Gerard. “I have the blessing of the Pope himself, and by
nature, the blessing of Jehovah God.”

The creature
let out a soft chuckle that sent a splash of ice down Gerard’s spine.

“That’s funny,
little man,” said the creature. “It was Jehovah who sent me to stop you from
enslaving these innocent people. It was Jehovah who commissioned me to stop you
in your dark mission.”

Gerard cringed
as the
Djinn’s
blade pressed firm against his throat.
The hot, sticky wetness of blood trickled down the mercenary’s neck as every
muscle in his body tensed for the kill. He saw no way out. He would be killed
by this abomination that spat in the face of all that was holy.

The pressure of
the scimitar continued for several long seconds with nothing happening.
Although his eyes were shut tight, Gerard knew the smoke had nearly dissipated
from the campsite. He could breathe freely again. He wondered how much longer
he’d be able to say that.

Finally, the
cold steel was removed, replaced by the eerie cold voice of the monster
who
had defeated him.

“Now,
murderer
, take your men and leave this
place. Don’t return here again. These people are under my protection now.”

Gerard slowly
opened his eyes. He was surprised that the Djinn
was
no longer hovering over his inert body. Instead, the monstrous creature was
bent down over one of his fallen soldiers.

Doing some unspeakable thing
, the
captain thought.

To his
surprise, the Djinn stood and Gerard saw that the young soldier the creature
had crouched over had been bandaged. A splint tied around his right leg. The
Djinn had tended to the boy’s injuries.

Without a word,
the dark apparition moved to each of Gerard’s men, treating their injuries with
the skill of field surgeon. Some, of course, could not be mended. But those
that were salvageable, the Djinn treated with the same tenacity he had used to
incapacitate them.

Gerard looked
over to his lieutenant, who watched the entire affair in stunned silence.
Archibald was just as flummoxed as his commander.

The Djinn,
having done all he could for his victims, stood and moved over to the mercenary
captain who was still flat on his back. Without hesitation, the creature
reached down, snatched the leather pouch containing Solomon’s ring from his
belt, and tossed a small oval medallion near Gerard’s feet.

“A trade,” the
creature said.
“The Seal for that medallion.
Give it
to Gregory. He’ll divine its meaning.” It backed away and pointed toward
Jerusalem. “Now go.”

The
Djinn’s
last two words left no room for argument. Seething
over the loss of his prize, Gerard palmed the medallion, placed it in a pocket
in his tunic, and stood up shakily. He could not allow the creature to leave
with Gregory’s ring. To do so would be a devastating blow to the baron’s plans
and his employer would not take his failure lightly. There would be dire
consequences.

But how could
he do anything to wrest control of the mystical relic once more? Out of the
original fifteen men that stayed behind to guard the prisoners, six were now
dead. Five were injured, but bandaged up. The remaining four, though relatively
healthy, were in no shape to take on the Djinn again.

No. Gerard had
no choice. To try to fight would certainly mean their gruesome and unholy
deaths. With a sigh of resignation, he ordered his men to obey the
Djinn’s
command. The mercenaries set to taking their
wounded by whatever means they could and limped from the campsite into
darkness.

As the beaten
mercenaries moved toward Jerusalem, Gerard turned to look back at the camp they
had taken so easily—the camp that had been so costly to him and his men. The
Guardians who
had just moments
before been his
prisoners were busy at breaking camp, preparing to move somewhere probably more
isolated and safe.

Nowhere on earth will be safe enough for
them
, thought Gerard.
Nowhere
will be safe for the demon either.
One day soon, I will find them both and make them pay for this
humiliation.
”

Gerard realized
as he stared back at the camp that the Djinn
was
no
longer visible. He wasn’t sure whether that made him feel better or worse. But
with a high-pitched shriek of a spectral falcon from high above the desert
plains, the mercenary had his answer.
Worse.
Much worse
.

As he turned
around to face Jerusalem, and safety, Gerard pulled the medallion out from his
tunic. The sun was rising in the east and its subtle rays revealed strange
markings engraved on the piece of jewelry. The mercenary was unable to decipher
its meaning. The unsettling feeling he had upon hearing the demon’s bird flying
high above them grew even stronger at the sight of the medallion.

Yes, it was
much worse than he had ever thought possible. He was sure of it.

The next night…

Isabella De
L’Ombre
could not sleep. Although the last few weeks had
been thoroughly exhausting—both physically and emotionally—slumber refused her
pleas at every turn. Of course, she was completely aware of the reasons for her
insomnia. With the turmoil rapidly escalating around her in the lives of those
she loved, her mind refused to remain quiet despite her most adamant of
commands.

Her father’s
situation was weighing heavily upon her.
His obsession which
was gradually turning to madness.
And then there
was
the Djinn. Her father was becoming even more haggard with each new account of
the dark creature’s exploits. No matter where Gregory turned, his enemy was
nearby. He was becoming delusional, even paranoid.

It was these
things…these thoughts and worries…that drove the sweet bliss of sleep from her
this night.

Casting aside
her oriental silk sheets, she moved her legs over the edge of the bed and set
her feet against the cold stone floor. Putting her face in her hands, Isabella
let out an audible sigh. She really was tired. But unfortunately, restlessness
outweighed any fatigue she felt.

Standing up,
she pulled a cool linen robe around her shoulders and walked to the balcony
outside her bedroom. She had no idea of the time, but a beautiful full moon
hung in the night’s sky like a pearl amid a sea of black. Propping her hands on
the railing, she peered out onto the quiet skyline of Jerusalem. Down below,
palm fronds swayed in the gentle breeze as a symphony of katydids serenaded
her. She inhaled deeply of the fragrant warm air.

She loved this
city…enjoyed its culture and history. She cherished its people with their
seemingly infinite courage and strength. Isabella could never understand why
her father could not see the beauty here that she saw. He constantly lamented
about a homeland she had never stepped foot in and the wonders that she was
missing by being sequestered in the
Outremer
.
But she was happy here and had no desire to be anywhere else.

Taking another
deep breath, Isabella said a quick prayer for the chaos this beautiful city was
facing in the coming days.

A gentle rap at
her door startled her.

“Isabella dear?
Are you all right?” asked the sweet, reedy
voice of Margaret, the nanny and maidservant who had raised her since
Isabella’s mother had died.

Whirling around,
the young woman walked to the door and opened it. Margaret stood there
fidgeting in place, her graying hair disheveled inside a kerchief, worry
engraved in her eyes. Her short, squat body cut a comical figure in the wool
nightgown she wore. Her hands rung together in circles as she looked at
Isabella.

“My dear,” the
older woman said. “I heard you rustling around in here. You know you need to
get your sleep. It’s not right…” Her nanny’s eyes caught sight of the open
doors that led to the veranda. “Oh Isabella, it’s much too dangerous for you to
have those open. Your father has given express orders that they remain closed
and locked.”

Isabella had to
force herself to keep a level head. Her nanny only meant the best for her, but
it was becoming increasingly difficult to deal with Margaret’s over-protective
nature. She was, after all, no longer a child and despised being treated as
such.

Besides, she of
all people had nothing at all to fear from the Djinn. But of course, her nanny
had no way of knowing that.

“I know
Margaret, but it’s such a beautiful night. I just wanted to…”

Her nanny
pushed right past her without listening to a word she was saying. Without a
word
of her own,
Margaret shut the veranda’s large oak
doors and lowered the bars down into their slots to prevent the world from
intruding on her precious charge.

“There now, my
dear,” Margaret said as she turned with a bright smile. “You’ll be safe now.”

Isabella knew
better than to argue. “All right, you win,” she said. “Now, I really am rather
tired. I think I’ll try to go to sleep now.”

Margaret beamed
at the young lady she had raised. Taking and pulling her close, the nanny
squeezed Isabella tight.

“All right,
love,” she said as he walked out the bedroom door. “Have a good night and I’ll
see you in the morning.”

Isabella shut
the door and leaned back against it, exhaling deeply as she closed her eyes.
She loved Margaret dearly, but sometimes she felt so smothered.

“That woman
truly adores you.”

Her eyes
snapped open at the disembodied voice; her heart pounded against her breast.
Across the room, the doors to her veranda now stood wide open once more with
the bar that had held them secure resting idly against the frame. The linen
curtains around the door fluttered back in the light breeze that blew from the
Jerusalem streets, revealing the outline of a black-robed figure leaning
carelessly against a stone pillar with arms folded. She scolded herself for
being so surprised. Now that she saw him, Isabella detected the faint odor of
brimstone coming from his direction.

“What are you
doing here?” she whispered as she dashed toward her father’s most deadly
nemesis. “Do you have any idea what would happen if you were discovered?”

The Djinn
leaned forward, his warm, gentle eyes—no longer glowing green—betraying the
smile she knew so well under his dark hijab. The creature moved quickly,
sweeping Isabella off the floor with powerful arms and twirling her around the
room…her feet flying behind her. She stifled a girlish giggle.

“Put me down,”
she commanded in a harsh whisper. “I’m serious. You can’t be here.”

The Djinn
complied without a word, but she could see the hurt look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he
said. “But it has been so long since I last saw you. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed
you too.”

“But…” He
paused for effect. “You’re worried.”

“Of course I’m
worried,” she said. “You’ve turned the whole world upside down. My father is
beside himself. He sees demons in his sleep. His obsession with you is almost
as great as for those twelve abominations that he discovered in the tunnels
below the city.”

“Good,” he said
with a chuckle. “Then our plan is working perfectly.”

“Yes, it’s
working! But to what end?” she asked. “What happens next? Would you…would you
kill him? Would you really kill my father?”

The Djinn stood
silent for several minutes, his gloved hands wrapped gently around hers. It was
a harsh question, she knew, but one that Isabella felt compelled to ask. He
needed to consider all the possibilities.

“I don’t know,”
he finally said. “I would rather not. But he simply cannot succeed in his
quest. Too much is at stake. I may have no choice, Isabella.”

Her heart sank.
She understood, but it didn’t make things any easier. The baron’s daughter
wasn’t entirely sure what danger twelve old statues could pose for the people
of Jerusalem. Nor did she know the extent of her father’s plans. But she was
convinced it was nothing good. The Djinn had always taken great pains to
conceal what he knew of Gregory’s aspirations.
For both her
sake, as well as Gregory’s.

He still believes there’s a chance for my
father to repent
, she thought.
He’s
giving him every opportunity
.

“And what if he
kills
you
instead?” she asked. “You
may hesitate, but he will not. You have truly rattled him and he will stop at
nothing to see you hanged if he is able.”

“Well, if that
happens, then so
be
it,” he said in a tone more grim
than she had heard in a long while. “Only let me die with the honor befitting a
knight of the cross.”

Tears welled in
Isabella’s eyes. She knew he meant it.

The dark figure
pulled her to him, his arms wrapping tight around her slim frame. His warmth
reassured her.

“It’s all
right, dear one,” he said. “Remember, Christ is on the throne—not Gregory or
the Pope. This foolhardy crusade of theirs goes against everything He stands for.
He will see them vanquished.”

The Djinn
gently pulled away from her and looked deep into her eyes.

“I love you,
Isabella…very much,” he said. She noticed a single tear running from his right
eye. “The day I first held you in my arms was truly the happiest of my life.”

She smiled at
this. “Save one other day,” she reminded him.

“Aye.
Except
that
day,” he said gently. “But that day is past. You are here now. The other is
not. And it is you who I will protect and love ‘til my dying breath.”

“I know you
will, and I cherish you for it.”

The two stood
silently, gazing at each other. They needn’t say another word. Both knew how
the other felt. True, unconditional and unfettered love passed between these
two souls. It was a thing of beauty in Isabella’s eyes.

The sound of
shuffling feet from outside Isabella’s chamber door broke the spell. Her head
turned around, muscles tensed, as three loud bangs exploded against her door.

“
M’lady
,”
came
the nervous voice of
Horatio, one of her father’s knights. “
M’lady
,
beggin
’ your pardon ma’am and sorry to wake you, but your
father sent us to check on your welfare.”

“Just a moment.”
She turned to face the Djinn, but he was
gone. The curtains still blew in the warm breeze, but he had vanished like the
spirit he pretended to be. She never would get used to that—his startling
entrances and insufferable exits. But she knew that he would always be there
when she needed him most and that was truly something to be thankful for.

Isabella
hurried for the door and for the second time that
night,
opened it to the anxious faces of her father’s knight and squire.

“Yes?”

“I’m truly
sorry, miss,” said the humble knight. “But your father’s been worried about
you. He just asked us to check on you.”

“Thank you,
dear Horatio,” she said with a smile. Of all the baron’s knights, Horatio was
by far the kindest and
most noble
of the lot. He had
always treated her with great affection and kindness.

Perhaps it was
his friendship with her uncle that made him pay special attention to her. Her
Uncle William had always treasured Isabella more than all his amassed wealth
and had showered her with love that even her father had never provided. That
is, until William was taken prisoner and disinherited by Gregory.

But Horatio had
been William’s closest friend. When all others claimed her uncle had rejected
Christ for the Muslim prophet, Horatio had bravely defended him time and
again—to his own ruin. His loyal devotion to his friend had brought the wrath
of the nobles down upon him and now, Horatio had been reduced to guard duty and
minor errands for her father.

But if the
loyal knight regretted his devotion to William and his present situation, he
never voiced it to Isabella. On the contrary, he lavished her with all the
fondness he could muster in her uncle’s absence.

“You’re
welcome,
m’lady
.”

“Hello, ma’am,”
said Samuel with an awkward wave.

Isabella’s
smile broadened.

“Why, hello
Samuel,” she said. “It is good to see you.”

The young
squire blushed. Horatio turned around to face his squire with a scowl.

“Well,
m’lady
, we should let you get back to bed,” the knight
said. “We’re off to a very important meeting with your father now. We’ll tell
him you’re fine.”

“A meeting?
At this time of night?
What kind of meeting?”

“Oh, well now,
I’m not at liberty to say,” he said, obvious pride evident in his voice over
being invited to such an event. “But it’s something big, I’d say. Probably has
to do with that nasty
ol
’ hob what’s been bothering
us of late.”

Isabella
stifled a smile at the mention of the ‘Hob.’ She had heard of the poor knight’s
recent encounter with the Djinn and felt bad that he had to go through such an
ordeal. Still, the good knight had handled himself bravely from what she
understood.

“Well, then Sir
Knight, I bid you a good night.”

Bowing low,
Horatio beamed back at her.

“You too, sweet Isabella.
Sleep well.”

With that, the
knight and his squire turned and walked down the hallway toward the stone
stairs leading outside. Isabella quietly closed the door and skittered once
again onto the balcony.

She scanned the
city below for any signs of movement. Nothing stirred. After several moments,
she saw Horatio and Samuel leaving the palace in which she lived and sauntering
down the street toward the Dome of the Rock.

For a while,
nothing else stirred. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a strange
shadow come to life from the flat rooftop of a home across the street. The
shadow dashed away, leaping into the air and landing on another rooftop.

Isabella’s
heart skipped a beat. He was following them. He had heard. She uttered a silent
prayer for the Djinn.
God, please protect
him
.
Please protect them all
.