Fire In The Desert, Pt. VI
In which both Jerzy in 1945 and Hugo in 2005 find themselves in very treacherous circumstances.
This is my third short story from the HugoVerse.
Previously: In 1945, Jerzy gets closer to hiding the artifact, while in 2005, Hugo learns a shocking truth about his grandfather.
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
Just a small reminder that I’ve published my previous short story, “Theodora’s Necklace”, currently paywalled, as an ebook on Amazon! If you’re not ready to take out a subscription and follow my writing on an ongoing basis, you can support my writing by buying it here!
Jordan, somewhere between Amman and Azraq. 1945.
Jerzy was meditating in his tent, preparing for the ritual. Getting aligned, emptying his mind to be able to focus on just the right things. And he thought he was almost done. Just one more thing.
He did his usual prayer, asking God and his guardian angel for a smooth operation.
He was almost going to conclude by expressing his gratitude and finish the prayer, but he suddenly got overtaken with very bad feelings.
Farid had said it would be better to leave all kinds of weapons at the camp so as not to offend the spirits, but Jerzy was hesitant. Six years of wartime paranoia were proving stronger. Going anywhere without a weapon felt downright stupid for him.
His guardian angel agreed, whispering to him: “Don’t be an idiot. Take the gun.’
And his guardian angel was a cool guy. He was doing a great job. If he applied for a job in security service, his track record would be outstanding.
Even without his personal guard’s help, Jerzy knew something was off. He was not going to take any risks.
So he took the gun and hid it in his pockets without saying anything to anybody.
*
They began an hour after sunset. Initially, everything went smoothly.
Malik began the ritual. He was moving around the rock formation, studying the energy of each potential spot, and finally settling on one which would form a natural shelter. Then he gestured to Farid, who raised his hands, closed his eyes and whispered incantations to the desert spirits. After a moment, he looked at the other two men and nodded, withdrawing to make a place for Malik, who performed a few powerful spells that created a cracked opening in the ground.
In the meantime, Jerzy sat nearby with the artefact, his hands hovering over the object, creating layer after layer, each of a different colour and purpose, of protection spells, cloaking the artefact with a veil of invisibility and undetectability.
Malik then filled the opening with his own cloak of protection that would emit the frequencies of the desert grounds, making anything contained inside indistinguishable from its surroundings.
Jerzy approached the opening and bowed to the spirits. He said a few words in Arabic that Malik taught him beforehand. After that, he placed the artefact in the ground and backed away.
Malik then approached the opening to seal it. He made a few gestures over it with a soft yellow glow in his palms. The soil began to move, but after a few seconds it stopped.
Malik tried again, but nothing happened.
‘What the…’ Malik said.
‘What is it?’ Jerzy asked.
‘I can’t close it!’
Suddenly, the cold, unforgiving desert wind struck them. Jerzy shuddered, sensing an evil presence emerging from the earth. The wind raised the sand, making them into whips that scoured their skin. The fire in their torchlight flickered.
Then they heard a howl. Something that sounded like wind swishing, but somehow reverberating from all sides and piercing through the ears.
‘Farid, you said the spirits had granted permission!’ Malik said.
But Farid did not respond. He was gazing into the void, at something only he could see, waving his hands as if inviting something towards him.
‘What the bloody fuck is he doing?’ Jerzy cried to Malik through the growing howl, barely hearing his own voice.
But Malik did not respond as well, busy creating a barrier around himself and Jerzy. After a while, a shimmering dome emerged above them, dimming the noise and protecting them from the whips of sand.
After a moment Jerzy understood why.
Black sand erupted from the soil, taking a humanoid shape towering over the men. It looked like crystals of obsidian, shimmering in the faded light of the torches. Its howl felt distant, as if an echo reverberated from the rocks.
‘You have disobeyed!’
‘What the hell is this thing?’
‘Something is wrong,’ Malik said. Within the bubble, Jerzy could finally hear something. ‘You brought a weapon.’
‘Damn I did. I just didn’t trust that guy. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Now I see you weren’t wrong. I should be the one apologizing.’
‘Now let’s deal with this thing.’
‘Wait – can you hear that?’ Malik said, touching the ground with his palm. ‘A car engine.’
‘What the hell!’
‘We’re having visitors. Prepare for a bloody fight.’
*
Malik’s school, Wadi Rum desert. 2005.
A man stepped out of the dark. Hugo caught the smell of the oriental note Jean-Marc had mentioned.
‘You came. So you’re ready to learn the truth.’
A man in his fifties, balding, grey hair, a bit overweight. Eyes filled with decades of darkness and suffering. Mr Al-Khatib.
‘What truth?’ Hugo asked.
‘About what happened in 1945.’
Hugo made a step back.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. My grandfather was a wartime hero and the best person…’
A laughter broke through in the middle of his sentence.
‘Yes… All those white, European wartime heroes. Decorated, cherished, immortalized.’
Al-Khatib made a step forward. Two little fires ignited in his palms.
‘What a pile of shit. Your grandfather killed an innocent man in cold blood – just because he found it more convenient.’
Hugo was dumbfounded. He just couldn’t move. It was – it was impossible.
‘My father served his purpose – and then he was too much of a danger so your grandfather just shot him.’
Something within Hugo just shattered into a thousand pieces. All the cherished childhood memories, all the love, everything that was so dear and beautiful in his life and that came from his grandfather – was it all built on a lie? Did he adore a murderer?
Impossible. How dare this man tell all those lies about his grandpa!
Rage overtook him. Two balls of fire ignited in his hands. He will regret this.
And then he shot the fireballs towards Al-Khatib.
*
Jordan, somewhere between Amman and Azraq. 1945.
The spirit was growing stronger. To an outsider, it would appear Farid was losing control over the situation. Or he just wasn’t doing anything about it.
Lights of a car appeared on the distant horizon. It seemed to be going exactly towards their spot.
‘You desecrated this land!’ the spirit howled again.
‘Can you deal with Farid and the spirit?’ Jerzy asked Malik, as they both were still within their bubble. ‘I can handle the intruders. I think I know exactly who they are.’
‘The spirit, yes. Farid is harder. He’s my…’
He didn’t finish. The spirit blasted a ball of energy towards them. The protecting barrier shuddered, but remained in place.
‘I won’t hold it for long. When it dissolves, you must handle Farid quickly before the intruders come. I will put the spirit to rest.’
Jerzy looked at the car. He assessed he had about a minute before they engage.
Handle Farid quickly.
That could only mean one thing.
Could there be another way?
Another ball of the energy from the spirit. The bubble shuddered again. It won’t hold one more attack. They needed to perform a counterstrike.
‘Can you handle Farid!?’ Malik shouted to Jerzy.
He didn’t want to do it. Not again. But six years of war made him used to these choices.
‘Yes. I will. Do your thing.’
Malik dissolved the protection barrier. The desert environment attacked them again – the cold wind, the whirls of sand, the hiss and growling of the spirit.
Malik immediately raised his hands. Two streams of golden light began emerging from his palms, reaching out to the spirit to bind it, while shouting an incantation in Arabic to neutralize it and put it to rest. The streams began wrapping around the creature. It shrieked, and then fell silent.
Farid spun towards them. He immediately put his palms close to each other, shaping a crimson ball of energy—
But Jerzy was faster. He thrust his hands forward and a silver thunder erupted in a single bolt.
Farid moved his hands upwards and to the side, creating a shield. Jerzy’s thunder hit it and collapsed into harmless crackling sparks falling onto the sand.
Farid immediately thrust a ball that cut through Malik’s golden streams, breaking the binding spell.
The spirit shrieked again with a high-pitch, unbearable hiss.
It got to Jerzy’s ears. He lost focus for a second.
Which was enough for Farid to join his hands together again.
Jerzy thrust his hands to block it, but nothing came out of them.
The spirit blocked his magic powers.
Then he noticed Farid gathering energy for another attack.
Jerzy had no choice.
He took out a gun.
One clean shot.
One more dead enemy.
The spirit growled. His caller was dead.
He directed himself towards Jerzy and blasted a ball of fire.
Is this the end?
But Malik was quicker. He stood in the way and created a shield. A very powerful shield.
How come his magic was not neutralized as well?
The spirit’s energy ball disintegrated.
Malik performed another incantation.
It felt like a very old spell. Something that desert magicians had been using for ages. It felt powerful, and very, very dangerous.
Yet, it had its cost. Malik looked exhausted.
But the spirit stopped howling and attacking them.
Everything became quiet.
*
Malik’s school, Wadi Rum desert. 2005.
Al-Khatib was quick. Quicker than his age and looks would suggest. He immediately countered Hugo’s attack, while binding his hands with a restraining spell. A very powerful spell. Which reminded Hugo of something, but he couldn’t really say what it was.
‘You are just like your grandfather. Violent, murderous.’
‘You know nothing about my grandfather!’
‘And you think you know him so well.’
His grip over Hugo’s wrists grew tighter. It became painful.
Where the fuck is Jean-Marc?
‘Just think. What do you really know about him? You even have no idea why you’re here. What your test really meant. You believed everything you were told.’
Hugo tried to wriggle himself out of this man’s holding spell, but he was too strong.
‘Don’t worry. I will tell you the truth. But first, you must pay for his crime.’
‘What the fuck do you…’
He didn’t finish. Somebody approached him from behind. He felt an unpleasant odour, his legs became weak, and soon, he lost consciousness.
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