tested himself since returning from Tubaygat. What if his powers had faded? Even if they hadn’t, how would he know his limits? He didn’t want to put all of his energy into the first few events in case he exhausted himself and faded later. But what if he held back too much and crashed out in the first round?
Jebel picked up a rock about the size of a boar’s head and was still trying to decide how much effort to put into it when the whistle blew. Panicking, he stepped forward and threw the stone wildly.
Jaws dropped long before the rock came down. It sailed far past any of the others, and over the heads of the people who’d gathered at the end of the field, where officials had thought they were well out of harm’s way. With yelps and screams they scattered. When the rock hit the earth, it had traveled three times the distance of Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh’s.
There was a long, stunned silence. Everyone tore their eyes away from the rock and gaped at the thin, ragged figure of Jebel Rum.
Then the cheering began.
There had never been such a noise in Wadi. With one throw, Jebel had won over all doubters. It had been so long since a successful quester had returned from Tubaygat that many had begun to think that the old legends were nothing but stories told to amuse gullible children. Now they saw that the myths were history. Gods
The last quartet threw their rocks, but they knew they were throwing simply to avoid elimination — no ordinary human could match Jebel’s throw.
Jebel experimented in the next two rounds. When throwing the javelin with his left hand, he put less effort into it, to see what he could do without testing his limits. He finished a safe third, and although the crowd was disappointed, most guessed that he was conserving his strength. Many rushed ahead of the contestants to the next field, to catch another glimpse of him in action.
When throwing with his right hand, Jebel put a bit more power into it, and this time he won the event, although in less spectacular fashion than the first.
The weights proved to be a letdown. One of the contestants had pulled a muscle in his back while throwing the javelin. He gave his best but couldn’t lift even the first set of weights, so the event stopped there, before the others could move on to a higher level.
The first wrestling event was next. The contestants were paired off by drawing straws. The six winners would progress, then the other six would wrestle again, with the three winners of the second heat joining the first six in the next round.
There was a great buzz when J’Al Rum was drawn against his younger brother, Jebel. As the first pair of youths faced each other, Jebel stepped over to have a word with J’Al.
“Best of luck,” he said, offering his hand.
“You too,” J’Al said, looking distracted.
“Are you all right?” Jebel asked.
J’Al shook his head and sighed. “Have you ever had one of those days where you get the feeling that nothing’s going to go your way?”
“Often,” Jebel said with a rueful smile.
“This is one of them,” J’Al said glumly. “I felt it when I threw the rock. The gods are against me today.”
In such a negative frame of mind, J’Al was defeated even before they locked grips. Jebel threw him easily, then pinned him after a brief struggle. It came as no surprise when J’Al was beaten again in the second round and made an early exit. Jebel felt sorry for his brother, but then again, J’Al had always wanted to travel, and now he would have that chance. In some ways it was for the best that he’d lost.
Next up for the remaining nine contestants was the event known as the breath of Sabbah Eid, an irony that wasn’t lost on Jebel. They had to stand in the middle of a field, wearing only a piece of cloth around their waists, while burning torches were run over their flesh. The first to scream or faint would be disqualified.
While the other young men sweated, grunted, and sizzled, Jebel relaxed. The flames didn’t mark him, regardless of the fact that the two men working on him pressed the heads of the torches in closer than usual, curious to see how much heat he could take before he blistered. They never found out. While they were trying their hardest to burn Jebel, another boy screamed, signaling the end of the event.
Immediately after that came the swimming race. All eight contestants shuffled down to the as-Sudat, where they plunged into the water and gratefully sought relief from the burns and blisters of the fire. When they were ready, they lined up, then burst into life at a signal from the high lord.
People jogged along the banks of the river, tracking the race on foot, cheering on their favorites. For most, this was now Jebel. Even those who had bet on one of the others were willing him on to victory.
It was soon clear that this wasn’t one of Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh’s best events, and as Jebel streaked to a lead and held it, most eyes focused on the Um Judayda, close to the rear of the pack. While many had wished to see him fail, so as not to pose a threat to their own warriors, now they wanted him to succeed. They were convinced that Jebel was going to win the mukhayret, but they didn’t want him to do so at a canter. With J’Al Rum fading so soon, Zarnoug was the strongest of the survivors. They wanted him to go head to head with Jebel in the later rounds, so they cheered him on and warned him when he was in danger of being overtaken. With their help he came in a safe third from last.
The ten-mile race was next, and because of the numbers involved, three would be eliminated — no more than four were allowed to compete in the penultimate round. With the exception of Jebel, the contestants were weary and strained. A ten-mile jog in the noon heat was a burden they would have happily forgone. But there was nothing for it except to grit their teeth and hope their legs didn’t fail.
Jebel could have led from the start, but he felt sympathetic towards the young men he was racing against and didn’t want to stretch them too far. So he remained with the pack, biding his time, letting J’An take the lead. This was J’An’s best event, the one he had been most looking forward to. His enthusiasm had faded with exhaustion, but once he found himself on the streets, cheered on by the crowds, he discovered fresh strength and doggedly pushed on.
One of the racers fell at the three-mile mark. The others held as a pack until, with just under two miles remaining, Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh increased the pace. J’An broke with him, and so did Jebel. The others were unable to catch them, so they hung back and prepared for the final hundred yards, when they would stage their own contest to determine which of them would qualify with the three in front.
Once Zarnoug was satisfied that they couldn’t be caught, he fell to the rear of the leaders. He wasn’t interested in winning the race but in the next two events, which would determine the overall champion. Let the Rum brothers scrap among themselves for momentary triumphs — he would conserve his power and thrust for glory when it mattered most.
Jebel could have taken the lead, but he knew how much a win would mean to J’An, so he hung back. When J’An crossed the line first, to wild roars of approval, the only person prouder than him and their father was his younger brother Jebel.
When the fourth and final contestant had been decided — a boy from a town in the green belt around Wadi — the draw was made for the second round of wrestling. Most people were hoping for a J’An-and-Jebel pairing, but they were disappointed. Zarnoug was drawn against the elder Rum, while Jebel was to face the boy from the farmlands.
Zarnoug and J’An wrestled first, the best of five throws or pins. J’An was drained after the race. He gave it his all, but nobody was surprised when he lost by three throws to one. He walked away disheartened, but the rapturous cheers of the crowd soothed his disappointment.
Jebel was up next. Some were fearful that he might slip at this late stage and be disqualified. They watched nervously as he dusted his hands and stepped into the circle. But when he caught the boy from the green belt and lobbed him five or six yards at the first attempt, they knew there would be no mistakes. Two more throws followed, then only Zarnoug Al Dahbbeh stood between Jebel and the grand prize.
But how would Jebel fare in the final event? It was a test of skill, not just strength. An executioner had to be more than tough. He needed to be able to sever a neck with an artist’s eye.
Two thick logs were produced. Both had been cut from the same tree and tested for defects. There was a thin mark on both. Each contestant had to chop his log in two, hitting the mark each time. If they both struck true, the one who cut through with the fewest blows would be the winner.
It was a nervous moment when the draw to see who would go first was made. Placing was everything. The
