Chapter 4
The Moab Priest ~ continued from Chapter 4 | Show Me The Way
The little Scorpion’s legs gave out in the marketplace as the three boys chased him mercilessly through the narrow streets and alleyways. He fell in front of the lamp trader’s stall and sent the bronze lamps flying into the air while the poppy seed cakes fresh from the baker’s oven fell onto the hot sand.
“Akhraj min huna!” the trader cried.
The little Scorpion was just one of hundreds of urchins who roamed the streets hungry and desperate.
The three boys followed quickly behind and fell on the sand grabbing at the hot poppy seed cakes.
The fat Scorpion picked himself up before running down a narrow, dark alley at the end of the marketplace. The last of the sun’s rays dipped below the minarets that rose above the city and the calls to evening prayer were heard echoing off the narrow street walls. The Scorpion hurried down one alley and then another as he looked up at the unfamiliar balconies and heard voices in the dark.
The nine-year-old boy was alone; his mother had died in the caves outside Damascus and the strange priest who had taught him words and symbols that now haunted his sleep as well as his waking hours had disappeared.
He remembered what his mother had said:
“Jemb al-aqrab la tiqrab, jemb al-haiyyi fru u nam.”
“By the side of the scorpion do not come, by the side of the snake spread your bed and sleep.”
All that remained from his younger years was a scorpion bite on his inner thigh. He could still see the scar and often felt a stabbing pain but then he would recall his mother and he never wanted the scar to disappear for it was a symbol of love.
He looked around the dark, dusty neighborhood, unsure of his way and felt the stabbing pain in his leg. Suddenly his mother’s voice came to him:
“Lady of the Burning Sands,
Sekhmet, Mistress of Terror!
May no enemy find me,
May no harm approach me,
Your sacred fire surrounds me,
No evil can withstand Your Eye.”
He stumbled in a doorway and grabbed his leg as the burning pain shot through his body. The streets were silent but then he heard voices.
“Where is he?” one boy said.
“We must kill him,” another said as they turned down the alley.
“The others think he is cursed,” said the third boy as he wiped his wet and sticky poppy seed hands on his worn tunic. “He reads certain things.”
“The dead don’t read.” The first boy looked down the alley in the darkness and clenched his fists.
“Did you bring the knife?”
The gleam of the finest Damascus steel was brilliant in the dark alley.
The Scorpion shoved himself into an alcove hidden from the street as he convulsed. His shoulders and head fell hard against the door and foam appeared in his mouth. His eyes grew large as he watched his scorpion scar open slowly. He felt pain as the wound became a deep hole. He slumped and passed out from the searing heat that he felt in his head.
A single black scorpion emerged from the open scar and fell lightly to the ground before scurrying into the Damascus night. A loud, rattling noise was heard in the dark street and on the narrow wall a shadow emerged, its tail high with evil intent as it struck three times.
The little Scorpion did not hear the screams of the boys or watch as their throats closed from paralysis. He was unaware of the night’s activities and lay for a long while in the shadows unable to move.
The black scorpion that appeared from his long-ago sting returned to where it had come as if nothing had happened. The Damascus night was still.
The next day a pauper’s funeral was held for the three street beggars and the rotund baker of poppy seed cakes stood over the bodies in the heat of the noonday sun.
He read from the Book of Going Forth:
“May you be given bread and beer,
Beef and fowl,
Clothes and ointment,
Everything good and pure,
Such as the soul of the dead live upon.”
A group of children dressed in rags watched as a wagon pulled up and the three bodies were placed on its straw floor.
“Haw,” said the driver as he whipped the donkey and it pulled forward down the long lane that led away from the marketplace and the city.
The little Scorpion stood watching in the shadows, shaking and holding onto a leather pouch his mother had given him long ago.
Continue reading… Chapter 6 | Arlemay
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