The Ophir Read online

  The Ophir

  by Irene Patino

  Published by

  Melange Books, LLC

  White Bear Lake, MN 55110

  www.melange-books.com

  The Ophir, Copyright 2014 Irene Patino

  ISBN: 978-1-61235-949-6

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover Design by Caroline Andrus

  Table of Contents

  "The Ophir"

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Previews

  THE OPHIR

  by Irene Patino

  "I will not die by your hand, Joseph Ben Abin". The Messenger of Allah, in the year of his death, looked upon the face of his assassin and cursed him and all that would follow.

  With only the cloak of night for protection and comfort, Joseph Ben Abin, roamed the earth waiting for the day that he could exact retribution from the hated and feared Kadar Nazim, last prophet of God.

  As Ghengis Khan, Joseph Ben Abin devised all manner of torture for his victims. Bloodletting was his favorite. As Vlad Tepes he would enjoy his breakfast as he watched his crucified victims die before him. He would fill a cup with their blood, and quench his thirst.

  As Jack the Ripper, he indulged in ritualistic killings that fed his uncontrolled desire to do the same to the powerful prophet, Kadar Nazim.

  People feared him, no matter when, where or who he became, but never challenged his choice of entertainment. No one knew that on the day of retribution the world, as we knew it, would change forever.

  To my family who give me so many ideas.

  Prologue

  Near a small coastal enclave in England, trunks, baskets, packing crates and large wine caskets are tossed onto a soft beach by the churning tides. Remnants of at least one ship, victim to the furies of the sea, mix in with the bounty pushed ashore by freak winds. Nine stalwart men of the town of Brighton brave the still strong winds as they comb the beach for anything of value. Salvage rights go to the finder. Ownership of the flotsam brings hope that this time the contents will hold such exotic gifts that their lives will be changed forever.

  Chapter One

  Kadar Nazim, self-proclaimed prophet, bade my much-trusted master come close, and so he did. “Tell me my son, what is the name of my murderer this time?” And as my master bowed to the prophet, he withdrew a blade, lunged forward and plunged it high into Nazim's chest screaming, “It is I! I am the one!”

  His mind raged. My master knew that his life was now forfeit; he was prepared to die. He allowed the guilt to take over. But the guilt was not for his attempt at murder. It was for his failed attempt. He fell in supplication. He begged to be forgiven for his treasonous act. With that, Nazim fell back also. His guards rushed forward, but were waved away.

  Wincing in pain from the blow, he raised his hand, and then pointed to my master saying, “I will not die by your hand, Joseph Ben Abin”. Even so, the Messenger of Allah, in the year of his death, looked upon the face of his assassin and cursed him and all that would follow.

  Nazim spoke thus:

  “From this time forward, you will be forever bound to your native soil. It and the cloak of night will be your only true comfort. Water, sun and separation of mind from body will be your dissolution. Unquenchable thirst and hunger will be yours. Shunned by man and beast, you will know the pleasure of neither. Holiness and the grace of My Father will pierce you to the bone like splinters.

  You are cursed to roam the earth from sunset to cock's crow. Remember this, for God's light will scorch your flesh to be extinguished only by the setting sun. Your name, Joseph Ben Abin, will be wiped from the lips of man that this day will not exist in the annals of history.

  You will be called by the words that fell from your mouth as you fell upon me. You will be known as The One from this day forward. Fear will cause man to hunt you as the nameless creature you will become.

  You will see me one final time. On that day I will exact payment for this most treacherous attempt on my life, and on that day there will be no mercy.”

  The great prophet foresaw his own death, but there was no reckoning of time, nor did he see the hand that would be his end. Unbeknownst to us all, that was the last curse that would come from Nazim's lips. The pronouncement of death by arcane law was a whisper of hope to my master. It was a second chance at retribution ... should he survive the process.

  Nazim would die shortly after by poison, served up by his most trusted second wife, Sabr, as she tended his wounds and nursed him back to health. She wanted him to die knowing that his death would be by her hand. The curse pronounced on my master, and me through contact, would see no normal end.

  * * * *

  Innocent of wrongdoing, I watched, trembled and prayed as the curse was set in motion. Nazim then spoke to me.

  “Ahkmed, I charge you with his keeping. From this day forward you will remain in servitude to this man neither living nor dead. You will do what he cannot.

  Remain faithful, and you will live a long and prosperous life. He will see to your needs even as you do his.”

  He then ordered me, “Now go. Take this one to the desert and bury him in the sand that will transform him. Stay by his side until the full moon three days hence. He will arise then as the lamia and be known throughout the world as the one who made an attempt on Nazim’s life. ‘The One’ will be his name.”

  My master, Joseph Ben Abin, tried to exact revenge on Nazim; Nazim, the last of many prophets, repaid him in kind. Although pronounced in soft, sorrowful tones, it was a curse of the same magnitude delivered upon me, as delivered upon my Master. As time progressed, “The One” became known to many; they whispered his name in small groups, shadowed in fear.

  The One and his followers would eventually spread their forces from one end of the European continent to the other. He took on a variety of persona that made each one rewarding to one such as he. His character would surface in history, and his name would change spelling but would always keep its meaning.

  As Ghengis Khan, he devised all manner of torture for his victims. Bloodletting was his favorite. As Vlad Tepes, he would enjoy his breakfast as he watched his crucified victims die before him. He would fill a cup with their blood, and quench his thirst.

  Jack the Ripper would also be among the titles he would make infamous. As Jack, he indulged in ritualistic killings that fed his uncontrolled desire to do the same to the powerful prophet, Kadar Nazim.

  The One lived many life times, and he accumulated the wealth needed to carry on in opulence. His character would fashion itself after the culture, eras and areas in which he would exist. People feared him, no matter when, w
here or who he became, but never challenged his choice of entertainment.

  * * * *

  The word from Nazim spread and carried to many parts of the globe. In conversation with the devout, he let it be known that Joseph Ben Abin should not be suffered to continue his existence on Earth. He knew the word would fall into the consciousness of his most faithful, and without drawing attention his word would be carried out.

  “My brethren, it is written ‘An eye for an eye’ is justice fulfilled by God’s decree. Therefore when we are wronged, it is our right to take justice into our own hands.

  We are promised many things for being faithful. I will sweeten the pot. When one is wronged, we are all wronged, and we must exact a price from the perpetrator. Speaking as God’s chosen, I say repay kind for kind. If someone attempts to take from you something precious, take something from them that is also precious. But, as in all things, you maintain free choice. Whatever you do, do in the name of Allah. You can choose to turn the other cheek, or repay pain with pain, for it is well known that the common man does only that from which he will profit. You will receive greater reward for following Allah’s law. It is your given right.” He continued to twist the word of The Almighty Jehovah as it was written. And they listened.

  * * * *

  In a time before the death of Nazim’s most loved wife Khadeejah, he had been a wise and loving man worthy of his calling. He was held high; his word was final and rarely challenged. He had created his own image to cover the real man. The real man had given birth to one of the most powerful, most feared sects of assassins known to man.

  He used his cult of assassins to manipulate his political power by use of fear, but he lacked the financial backing to turn his greater ambitions into a reality. To this end, he courted and married a woman introduced to him by his most loyal follower, Sabah. Only one obstacle lay in his way. The husband of a woman who stood on her own but would acquire greater wealth once her husband was removed from the equation. It was a political move.

  After his wife’s death, pretense was no longer needed. The wealth was now his, and he turned. He claimed special dispensation in God’s court. His passions grew and clouded the ethical traditions of his time, and often of his own making. The truth of Nazim’s religious philosophy was confusing, contradicting, and often manipulated to give credence to personal desires. Again his follower’s listened. In Nazim’s world, he passed his own brand of law down to his legion in discussion with leaders of his tribe.

  “Unmarried women and virgins do not deserve respect as do our mothers. They tempt our very souls and are in league with Satan. Our mothers were women of virtue. They were married and obedient. You take nothing when you take a temptress by force, nor a woman with no virginity to take. If a man does not freely offer his wife or daughter to you, you have the right to take her. And woe be to those who try to thwart heaven’s law.” His faulty thinking found a way to justify his methods to men with few morals. They justified heinous crimes with their own brand of logic.

  Nazim allowed assassination when it was of benefit to him; he became the common man of which he so often spoke. He was known to have even disregarded the simple sexual morality of his adherents; he covered many sins by claiming Divine Revelation. He warned against adultery but practiced it often.

  With pride in success, Nazim believed himself invulnerable; he justified chicanery if he could see gain from it. His tour of the realm was often a ruse to disregard family sanctity and his own teachings, and indulge his own decadent appetite. It was in this last, that he crossed my master.

  Joseph Ben Abin, a career soldier, a captain, guarded roads and made traveling safe. When not protecting travelers, he engineered more roads and bridges. His work kept him away from his Nubian wife, Akilah, for long periods of time. Nazim had heard of her beauty; he took advantage of my master’s absence. Nazim devised a plot to get her alone using his title and deception to lure her to his camp.

  His brainwashed followers echoed the prophet’s words, “If Nazim, may he be blessed, dictates that it is so, who are we to argue the rights Allah has blessed us with?”

  * * * *

  Akilah was an intelligent woman with great reasoning skills. She learned the skills of midwifery and a variety of herbal remedies to treat many of the common illnesses of the day. She picked up the information with astonishing speed; she added some of her own remedies to the process. Akim, her slave, teacher and surrogate mother, admired her mistress’s intrepidness; she loved Akilah as her own.

  “Akim, what should I use to discover if a woman is with child?”

  “Place barley seeds and emmer in a small bowl. Add the woman’s urine to the mixture.” It was universal knowledge at that time that if the seeds sprouted, the woman was pregnant. It was a fairly accurate test.

  “How can I predict if it is male or female?”

  “If the barley sprouts first the child will be male; if the emmer grows first the child will be female. However, you should avoid predicting if possible.”

  “Why?”

  “I have found that it could go either way, regardless of which sprouts first.”

  “But, what should I say if they ask?”

  “Tell them that Jehovah has blessed them with family. They should accept our Father’s decisions without question. Besides they will not love them less once here.”

  Akim passed on knowledge handed down to her from her mother and her mother’s mother.

  “The thing to remember is that we are still few in number. While it is important to know if a woman can conceive, it is even more important to know if she is pregnant.”

  “Why?”

  “Why. Again with the ‘why’. I’ll tell you why, but then you must stop asking questions for a time. Are we agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  Nazim would test Akilah’s dedication to her chosen field. His questions were meant to put her at ease and remove any apprehension, but they were not needed. Knowledge and appreciation of the midwife’s nurturing nature made her a much sought after practitioner of healing arts. When summoned by Nazim’s major domo, Habib, Akilah went without fear and completely unprepared for what awaited her.

  * * * *

  “Mistress, my master, Kadar Nazim, the Right hand of God and powerful prophet, has asked that you come to his tent. He is in need of your services.” Everyone knew that Nazim’s second wife, Sabr, was pregnant. He had taken her as his wife when she was six years old. The marriage was consummated when she reached puberty. He had re-named her Sabr due to the traits she displayed of patience and self-control, even as a child. He trusted Sabr explicitly. She was free to come and go as she pleased. Akilah assumed that it was Sabr that needed her services.

  “Akim, bring me my cloak and send word to the stable for my wagon. I will gather my supplies.” Directing her next question to the guide, she asked,

  “Do you know the nature of the problem? I ask only so that I can gather the appropriate tools and remedies.”

  “No, please accept my apology. I am not privileged to personal information. But, please hurry. My master waits.”

  Not knowing what she faced, Akilah rehearsed spells and incantations to make the mother-to-be feel secure. The benefit was psychological, not medical. It also helped Akilah gain composure. She felt honored to be summoned by the great Nazim.

  It was almost dusk. Desert nights were cold. Akilah grabbed her cape, placed it over her shoulders and pulled the strings on the hood to tighten over her shining mane. Thick black curls spilled from the sides framing the face of the beautiful dark skinned Nubian. At the age of seventeen, her confidence and demeanor were worthy of a queen.

  “I will guide you to his tent. Once there, in his presence, keep your eyes averted and head bowed until he gives you leave to do otherwise. Understand?” Akilah hesitated only a second as she placed her equipment and supplies in her commoner’s chariot. Once ensconced, she turned to Habib to give her response.

  “Sir, I can assure you, I need no le
sson on protocol. At the very least, I know to be respectful to all, regardless of station. But I thank you for your concern.” Akilah stood tall; she let the sting burn a little hotter by staring directly into the eyes of Nazim’s trusted servant. With a crack of the whip the horse went into an easy trot.

  * * * *

  Akilah stayed low before Nazim, eyes averted. Nazim examined Akilah as he walked around the woman. Even in supplication, her shoulders were squared and proud. Her back was straight and strong; her hands were soft, the hands of a physician, and a person of stature. He was fascinated by the tempting curls hiding the curve of her cheek and shape of her brow.

  This uncommon man almost gasped like a schoolboy when he placed a hand under Akilah’s chin and raised her head to look into her eyes. They were violet. Against her unblemished, smooth, black skin they seemed to glow with a natural radiance and unexpected defiance. He fought to keep his distance, his control.

  “Please, come ... make yourself comfortable.” He pointed to the plush pillows scattered on the floor rug around the small fire pit. May I offer you something to drink? Some wine perhaps?” He clapped his hands to summon Habib, who stood just outside his tent. He thought to soften her by treating her more like an equal.

  “No, thank you. I understand you have need of my services. I brought my equipment and supplies. Where is the patient?” Nazim waved Habib away.

  “In a moment. I have questions.”

  “I humbly suggest that I see the patient first. I can answer your questions later. Is this not an urgent matter?”

  “Urgent? No, no, no. Important yes, but not urgent.”