Читать книгу The Lost Puzzler - Eyal Kless - Страница 20

A whistle and a snap from a leather whip marked the beginning of their journey as their cart rocked back and forth on the muddy road out of the village. Rafik was wedged tightly between his uncle Simon and his older brother, Fahid, with his hand wrapped in bandages and once again hidden inside his tunic. People stared and waved as the small cart picked up its pace and exited the village’s main gate. Two guards gestured to Fahid, who told Simon not to stop. One of the guards stepped aside only at the last moment, swearing. Fahid turned around and shouted a halfhearted apology as their pony went into a trot.

They were headed in the direction of Simon’s village, less than a day’s ride away, but it was a ruse. Shortly into their journey they would turn and head onto a narrow road that crossed the village and the fields. Rafik knew the area well; he had staged many glorious battles between warriors and infidels with Eithan on these very hills. Now he reckoned he would have to play on the infidel team, not that anyone would play with him anymore.

Rafik blinked away tears. His uncle said they were going to find a man who would know how to cure him. He clung to this hope with all his will. It would all be a great adventure and soon he would come back home, cured. Besides, he did not feel like an infidel; he still believed in God and the Prophet Reborn. He still prayed devoutly every morning. He didn’t feel the need to attach anything to his body like the infidels did, or to maim and kill innocents. He concluded this was all some kind of misunderstanding. Clearly the Prophet Reborn was testing him in some way, the way the Prophet himself was tested. Rafik swore to himself that he would pass this test and remain pious and true to the faith no matter what happened.

“When are we going to stop and pray?” he asked, but received no reply.

When Rafik asked again, Fahid muttered something noncommittal just as a barrage of rocks rained down on their cart. Most of the stones fell short but one stung Rafik’s back. The pony almost bolted in panic and Uncle Simon swore loudly. Fahid jumped off, leaving enough space for Rafik to turn around and see their attackers. There were nine boys spread across the hill, and Rafik knew them all. Half of them ran up the hill when they saw Fahid but a few stayed and picked up more rocks.

Normally Fahid had tolerance for pranks, but this was not a normal day. He cocked his gun and shot once over the boys’ heads, causing them to drop the rocks they were holding and scurry away in panic. The cart jerked violently as the pony tried to bolt again.

“Why in the Reborn’s name did you do that?” Simon bellowed. “They must have heard that shot in the village. Now we must hurry. Seriously, to waste good ammunition on such things …”

Rafik was once again wedged between the two nervous men. He did not watch the road ahead, or pay attention to his red-faced brother. He was still looking behind him at Eithan, who was the only boy who did not run away after the shot was fired. They were close enough to recognise each other but too far away to meet each other’s eyes. With a shout of rage, Eithan suddenly flung the stone he was holding at their cart. It fell short, rolling on the road until it came to a stop. Then Eithan turned and ran up the hill.