Chapter 24

            Salem Bamahfuz stormed through the Abha suq, his dark robes flying, muttering curses under his breath, as he headed for his house. His small, slender form seemed tightly wound, packed with rage. He bumped carelessly into a fruit cart, sending oranges and figs flying. The cart’s owner, an old merchant who knew Bamahfuz and his power, kept prudently silent, backing up against a nearby wall, and waiting for the angry man to pass. The market was crowded with shoppers, but most knew who this man was, and no one dared challenge him. The crowd melted away as Bamahfuz moved along the shopping street, re-forming behind him as he moved toward his multistory villa. A Sudanese doorman quickly opened the gate to Bamahfuz’s courtyard, and let his master enter.

            When Bamahfuz reached his majlis, Abu Sameer was waiting for him – standing, as was his custom, in a shaded corner, his arms folded across his chest. Bamahfuz looked at him, tried to focus on his face, but as usual, Abu Sameer was difficult to get a fix on.

            “Well?” Bamahfuz said, as he settled in a nest of pillows in his favored corner. He watched as a servant poured tea for him. “I understand you have more bad news for me.”

            “Your Iranians have failed.”

            Bamahfuz snorted. “My Iranians? My Iranians?”

            “They launched a brutal attack on an illusion. Then they wandered off and were caught in tunnel loop that never ends. They will die there.”

            The merchant shook his head slowly, then sipped his hot sweet tea. Afterward, he looked up and said: “It never ceases to amaze me that your people are unable to stand up to our adversaries.”

            Abu Sameer was silent.

            “Don’t you realize what’s at stake?” Bamahfuz asked, almost spitting his words. “Our entire way of life!”

            “We are running out of options,” said Abu Sameer. “I must consult with our leaders.”

            “You do that. And remind them that I am not without influence. And that I am custodian of the true Black Stone!”

            Abu Sameer glided through the doorway and was gone.

            Bamahfuz stood up and began pacing back and forth. He hoped none of the servants had heard him. The jinn knew about the Black Stone, but his servants were totally in the dark. Only he had the key to the special room downstairs….

            He wondered how he might use this magical stone to protect the Lost City of Iram from the invaders. Could the jinn give him any answers? Did they know what its true powers were? Certainly they must…. Bamahfuz was torn. He wanted to speak to the jinn about the powers of the Black Stone, but he did not want them to take so great an interest in the stone that he might lose it forever. Perhaps there is someone else I can turn to, a magician or sorcerer who knows the old magical texts, who understand the powers of ancient treasures.

            I will ask the old herbalist, Mazin Fawwaz, he said to himself. To most people, Mazin is a humble Abha shopkeeper who sells herbal remedies and aromatics to his neighbors from a tiny stall in the suq; but on behalf of a select few, Mazin secretly practices the “condemned system,” the ancient black magic that calls on the forces of evil, that strikes fear into the hearts of the Kingdom’s religious leaders. He consorts with afreets, the powerful jinn who serve Eblis, the great demon. The afreets are much more powerful than the run-of-the-mill jinn, than Abu Sameer and his ilk…. Without his God-given signet ring, the great Solomon, prophet and king, would have been unable to control and compel the afreets as he did, to force them to build great monuments and palaces. Perhaps the stone set in the magic ring of King Solomon is of the same substance as the Black Stone – in which case I should have no problem destroying these filthy, faithless invaders….

            Mazin’s eyes widened behind his rimless spectacles as Bamahfuz outlined the situation and described his needs. The two men stood in the shadows of Mazin’s tiny shop, which was closed for sunset prayer-time. The rich aroma of lavender, sweet thyme and oud wood invigorated Bamahfuz and helped him press on with his scheme.

            “I have a – special stone,” he had told the shopkeeper, without elaborating. “I need to summon an afreet to unleash the stone’s innate powers. I ask for your help.”

            Bamahfuz spoke about the Lost City of Iram that lay beneath the dunes of the Empty Quarter; he described its jinn inhabitants and explained about the American expedition heading for the city through subterranean tunnels. At first Mazin was skeptical, but the story held together, and before long he was asking questions and getting specific responses. Mazin had been face-to-face with the spirit world, and was not surprised about its extent and power. Of course, he thought. Of course! The UFOs that pester so much of the world are nothing more than tricks played by the jinn. Yes, they are delusions, but delusions perpetrated by jinnis….

            When Bamahfuz spoke about the intervention of the Iranian troops, Mazin’s heart began racing. Mazin was a Shi’ite, and a secret Iranian sympathizer. Bamahfuz did not know this yet – Mazin kept his religious and political preferences to himself, for the sake of survival. He saw Iran as a powerful if somewhat distant protector of his people’s rights. He knew they would come to the rescue whenever called upon.

            But Bamahfuz was suggesting in an indirect way that the Iranian soldiers were not enough, and that some action by demonic forces would be needed. The merchant had a special stone that he thought an afreet could activate. Fine, thought Mazin, let’s see what he has and we will plan a solution.

            Then something occurred to him.

            “Why are you involved in this?” Mazin asked Bamahfuz. “Isn’t this something for the jinn to deal with by themselves?”

            Bamahfuz frowned. “The jinn leaders of the city have capitulated. They are surrendering to the Americans.”

            “I find that hard to believe.”

            “It is true. Only a handful of city leaders are resisting, and these jinn have asked for my help.”

            “Why you?”

            “I have many resources on the ground.”

            “Hm.”

            Mazin noticed that the street sounds outside were stepping up.

            “Prayer is over,” he said. “Let us go to your house and see the stone.”

            Bamahfuz smiled and clapped Mazin on the shoulder as the two of them left the shop and headed for the villa.

            Bamahfuz shared with Mazin Fawwaz the secret of the Black Stone. Fawwaz stared in amazement at the chunk of gleaming black meteorite beneath the glass dome as Bamahfuz related the story. Mazin was skeptical at first, but the longer he stared at the stone the more persuaded he became. He had of course been to the Great Mosque in Mecca, and, like other pilgrims, had kissed the stone framed in silver at the corner of the Kaaba. The notion that the real Black Stone could lie here beneath a dome of glass, in the villa of businessman Salem Bamahfuz, both thrilled and frightened him. The thought crept into his mind: Could I possibly bind an afreet to this stone, and thereby imbue it with staggering powers? I don’t know if I can do this, Mazin told himself. He thought about all the ancient spells he had read and mastered over the years. He searched his memory for one that could do the job.

            Assuring Bamahfuz that he could summon and bind an afreet, he hurried home to get his satchel, which contained various herbs and artifacts used in his work. When he returned to the room, Bamahfuz was still staring at the meteorite beneath the glass dome.

            “Ah, you are back,” said Bamahfuz, sensing Mazin’s presence, but not looking at him. “You may summon the afreet now.”

            Bamahfuz slowly backed away from the stone and stood quietly in a corner while Fawwaz began his preparations. Reciting complex incantations that veered from Arabic to ancient Aramaic to totally unfamiliar tongues, he sprinkled the floor around the pedestal with powdered sidr leaves. Sidr, or Ziziphus spina-christi, the Christ’s-thorn tree, was well known as a plant favored by the jinn. In the spiny sidr thickets that grew in remote areas of the desert, the jinn were said to keep their lush, secret gardens.

            “We must remove the glass,” Mazin said. “I will need to touch the stone.”

            “It is not sealed,” said Bamahfuz. “Just lift the dome off.”

            Mazin did so, setting the glass dome on a nearby table. He looked closely at the stone, at the amazing array of sparkling colored pinpoints that winked in a sea of utter blackness. He placed his fingertips on the stone. Surprisingly, it felt alive, almost pulsing. He pulled his hand away quickly, then took a deep breath and touched the stone again. He pulled from his memory the Arabic phrase that would summon the afreet. But before he could utter the words, his vision blurred, he gasped, and he staggered backwards. He bumped into Bamahfuz, who was staring in the direction of the Black Stone. Two of them stared transfixed as a greenish mist materialized in the neighborhood of the stone. The mist coalesced quickly into a large, featureless humanoid shape standing behind the stone. Fawwaz and Bamahfuz realized they were looking at the afreet. The shape, about seven feet tall and slender, towered over them and dominated the room. As they watched in growing terror, it slowly became more understandable, showing golden eyes and a dark slit of a mouth. Its vermilion skin was smooth, supple and shining, without hair or blemish. The two men could not tell if the creature wore clothes; its remarkable skin seemed so artificial and, while the figure exuded masculine power, they could see no sexual organs. The afreet moved large hands in circular motions above the Black Stone, as if calming it. The creature had thumbs, but the four fingers on each hand were fused into flattened spades. The circular movement of the quasi-hands had the two men almost hypnotized.

            “Come here,” said the afreet. It spoke their language, but its lips did not move. Its deep, almost booming voice seemed to permeate their flesh and penetrate their skulls. Slowly, trembling, the two men approached the pedestal.

            “You are such fools,” the creature said.

            Its odd comment shocked them, helped them clear their heads. They looked at each other, then back at the afreet.

            The creature stared at them steadily with its golden eyes, which seemed endlessly deep and swirling, like vortices drawing them in.

            “You live in the 21^st century of your era. But you act as if nothing has changed since ancient times. Don’t you realize that existence is a never-ending process, always moving, always altering? You still think of us as the same jinn your prophets knew so many centuries ago. Those ancient creatures exist only in storybooks! Just as your world has changed, so has ours. Let me assure you, you cannot summon us and bind us with your silly magic!”

            The creature gestured toward itself.

            “You think of me as an afreet, a powerful demon serving ‘Shaytan’! Such an old and curious belief…. I am not a demon, and you did not summon me. I came to you because the time is right. We must make an end of this charade – now!”

            Bamahfuz inched forward, realizing this was his last chance.

            “I understand that you are angry, O Great One,” he said. “But we need to make use of your powers. We need to stop a great blasphemy from occurring!”

            “Blasphemy??” The creature laughed. “What a quaint concept…. No doubt you are referring to the visitors – the visitors to our city. This is not something you can stop. Decisions have already been made, and the machinery set in motion.”

            “But, O Great One, we have – as you can see – the Black Stone! We can use it, with your help, to exert its great power and stop the infidels.”

            “You are not going to stop anyone,” said the creature. It looked down at the stone on the pedestal. “This will not help you.”

            Pointing at Mazin, the creature said: “This man is a charlatan. Send him away!”

            Mazin looked at Bamahfuz, who made a dismissive gesture. The old herbalist, confused, left the room. By the time he reached the door that opened onto the street, he had no idea where he was or what he had been doing.

            The creature beckoned to Bamahfuz, who was beginning to have doubts but did not want to offend this strange being.

            “Come closer,” it said. “I want you to place your hand on the stone.”

            Bamahfuz approached the pedestal and laid his hand on the Black Stone. It felt warm to the touch, and his palm tingled from the contact.

            “Now, press hard against the stone.”

            Bamahfuz did as he was told. The stone seemed to give way, and his hand sunk suddenly, deep into the rock. He looked with amazement. His hand had vanished into the stone, beyond the wrist.

            “What is happening?” he asked with a quavering voice.

            “You are merging with the stone. You are becoming bound to it. It is an interdimensional phenomenon, and you are incapable of understanding it. But this is what you wished to do to me, is it not?”

            Bamahfuz pulled frantically, trying to extricate his hand from the rock, but it was trapped. The stone was very heavy – too heavy for him to lift alone. He turned to the creature with a look of pure terror in his eyes.

            “Help me!” he cried.

            “I have already helped you,” said the creature. “Now you may take advantage of the powers of this stone.”

            “What powers?” Bamahfuz asked.

            “Exactly,” said the creature. “This is not the Black Stone. Did you actually think we would return it to the men who stole it?”

            It took only a few seconds for the vermilion being to dissolve before Bamahfuz’s eyes. The businessman was suddenly alone, in his secret room, his hand trapped inside a black chunk of rock. He realized he would never be able to free himself. From the far corners of the villa, the servants could hear his high-pitched scream.
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