Epic Of Ahiram (Book 1) by Michael Joseph Murano Read Free Book Online Page B

the mysterious man: “Why three? What do they do? And how did Ahiram end up with one of them?”
    “Excellent questions. These medallions are known as the Merilians—the origin of their name remains a mystery. They are thought to be powerful, beyond anyone’s understanding. The source of their power is unknown, and they are very ancient.”
    “Mother said she bought this medallion from Master Kwadil. Why don’t we just give it back to him? His caravan makes a stop in Byblos every Feast of Light.”
    The man chuckled dryly. “I highly doubt the famed dwarf merchant had such a piece in his possession, and if he did, he would not have sold it to your mother. Besides, the third medallion, the one in the possession of your brother, is supposed to be hanging on a wall deep within the temple of Babylon. The truth, my dear child, is that someone stole this third Merilian from the Temple of Baal.”
    “What? Stolen? From… who?” cut in Hoda, aghast. “Wait. If that’s the case, the Temple would have been searching for it—“
    “Unless the thief—cunning and highly capable—replaced the real medallion with a fake, which must still be hanging in the temple of Babylon as we speak.”
    “But why would anyone give this medallion to my brother? I mean, we are fishermen from a small town that no one outside of Fineekia has even heard of.”
    “That is the most troubling question of them all, is it not?” said the man pensively. “A very troubling question indeed.”
    He fell silent. Hoda glanced at Syreen, who shook her head, professing ignorance. Her eyes now fully accustomed to the light, Hoda glanced around and noticed four men dressed in black standing discreetly in the corners, their faces hidden beneath thick cowls.
    “Leave us, everyone,” ordered her interlocutor. His voice, now deep and commanding, shook Hoda. “Now.”
    Syreen got up and bowed. By the time Hoda glanced again at the figures in the shadows, they were already gone.
    “Hoda, I am going to ask you two questions, and upon your answers rests the fate of your brother, your village, and so much more than your village. Are you ready?”
    Hoda was confused. What could she possibly know that would affect anything or anyone beyond the boundaries of Baher-Ghafé?
    “Here is my first question: did Ahiram ever scribble? Has he ever written anything?”
    Hoda blanched. “How did you know?” she asked, dread seizing her.
    “As I feared,” sighed the man. “Do not worry, child, we are here to help you. Please answer my questions and do not omit any details.”
    For over a millennium now, the Temple of Baal had been the guiding, moral force for most kingdoms of the world. In this long span of time, the Temple had—for reasons all its own—outlawed writing, proclaiming it a capital crime. Further, if one member of a community lent assistance to a Katiib ( a writer or scribbler) as the Temple called them—then the High Riders would mercilessly cut down the entire community, down to its last member.
    As the years wore on, people forgot what “writer” meant, and accusing one of being a Katiib became an expedient means to be rid of a competitor or a family member. Depending on the magnanimity of the local high priest, the High Riders would either launch a proper investigation to determine if the accused was indeed a scribbler, or summarily abduct him. In the latter case, they would also turn a blind eye if the accuser wound up dead, a dagger between his shoulders. Therefore, the charges of writing were not brought up lightly.
    “When Ahiram turned ten,” started Hoda, with a shaky voice.
    “On his birthday, or some time before or after?” clarified the man. “This is important, child, be specific.”
    Hoda nodded. “I will do my best. The incident happened at the end of the Festival of Light, so yes, it took place on my brother’s birthday. I remember this because we were roasting chestnuts on the beach…”
    “And chestnuts are out of season