Sahara Shozan: It Was Supposed to be a Myth.

SAHARA SHOZAN

By

C.J. Lledo

Disclaimer and Copyright

All characters within this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author. They have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, living or dead, they are not even remotely inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author. All incidents are pure invention.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any form. The text of this publication may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, scanning, recording or storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without prior written consent.

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Copyright © C.J. Lledo 2013

TABLE OF CONTENTS

An Ancient Evil Returns

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

An Ancient Evil Returns

The shifting sands of the Arabian Desert conceal numerous secrets and legends; legends that have for generations remained closely guarded by the Bedouin still lingering within these sands. Yet, none is feared or guarded more than those surrounding a shozan.

Ridiculed by the youth as trite folklores, many elders remain true to their fealties, knowing that a time will come when the Gods will once again restore the balance of the desert.

Prologue

A blood moon rose over the red dunes of the Northern Arabian Desert, while men dressed in flowing robes scurried around a bayt in preparation for the evening.

Rhamon looked at the omen and turned, signaling to his men to hurry up and complete their tasks, before, once again, scanning the horizon. A scowl marred his brow as a sense of disquiet filled him. An eerie sensation again crawled up his back, a sense that they were being watched, which caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. Although not new or unfamiliar to him, it was a sensation he has frequently experienced throughout his life. This time, however, the incessancy and intensity thereof awoke an inherent disquiet within him, causing the lingering tension within his shoulders to multiply. He reached up and rubbed his neck, turning his head some in hope of dispelling the strain.

The old lore warned of ghilan roaming the desert, banditti who mercilessly raided caravans, and although he did not believe in the old myths and legends, there had been a recent spree of pillage within the desert. So much so that even the older, resolute, tribes have become weary of remaining within its sands for any extended period of time.

Moving around the bayt, Rhamon approached his men, while thinking over the arrangements for the evening’s guard.

Their horses had also been restless throughout the day, an occurrence that caused him even greater concern. They had travelled a considerable distance over the last few days, in preparation for the endurance races, and knew that the familiarity their horses gained over the terrain would stand them in good stead during the competition, even lending them some advantage over the others; and he needed every advantage available to him if he was to continue breeding.

The unrelenting heat of the day had somewhat dissipated, and the cooler air carried with it the sounds from within the bayt. Its occupants were unreservedly talking, while pots stirred. The sounds were welcoming, and as comforting as the spicy scent of their evening meal that drifted on the breeze.

As he entered the tent, he sought out his daughter, Talleigh, and the main reason for his concern. Her colored robes indicated her youth and innocence, robes she would soon enough be trading for black ones, once she came of age. Rhamon watched as she unreservedly moved between the others, helping with their evening meal. Her dark hair was hidden beneath a cream shawl, which brought out her greenish-brown eyes. He knew that like her mother, she would mature into a beautiful woman, and had already received numerous betrothal requests.

Yet, to him, her true worth lay not in her looks, but in her horsemanship. For it was well known amongst his kinfolk that she possessed exceptional horsemanship skills, and rode as if born to it. The older members in his clan often referred to her as a shozan; an edict that froze his blood whenever he heard it.

Rhamon settled next to one of his men, before taking the proffered bowl of Al-Saloona from Talleigh, and started on his meal.

In the distance, a group of spotted hyenas looked on, their eyes glowing red against the quickly darkening sky. They had spent most of the afternoon pursuing the group, having remained downwind to ensure that the dogs would not pick up their scent.

Rashid watched closely as the group settled for the evening, gleeful at the fortunate turn of events. The group had not made it to the oasis, as he had earlier that day feared they might, having instead settled at one of the wells for the evening. The situation left them isolated, vulnerable, and therefore easy pickings; all they had to do was wait for the riders to settle for the evening.

He watched as their three prize horses were led into the tent, and committed to memory the men’s positions as they set up guard for the evening.

The temptation of fresh blood and carnage had rendered most of the sect impatient, overeager even. He had enforced an unquestioning subservience amongst them; they knew to await his signal, and that approaching a target without his approval would have dire consequences.

Kadir and Sayeed kvetched in anticipation, regularly turning their heads to look at him, watching for his signal; and once he was certain that the group had settled, he gave it.

Swiftly, silently, they stalked over the sand, stealthily approaching the sleeping bayt. Two of them took out the dogs with a single bite, without as much as a whimper emitted from the brutes, and delighted in the fresh blood, while Rashid silently approached the tent, intent on the greater prize.

Morphing into a man, he snuck up behind the guard and slit his throat, letting the man slide to the ground as he waited for a response from within the tent. The coppery tang of blood filled the air; he could taste it, yet fought the desire to feed. He could hear the one mare within the bayt snorting, and already knew which one it was; she was an exceptional specimen, which would fetch a good price towards the east.

He waited for his men to circle the bayt, listening for the signal, which would indicate that all was clear. It came, an eagle-like screech, and simultaneously they entered from opposing directions.

Hamdan, Rashid’s second in command, captured Rhamon and held the man’s scabbard against his neck, while Sayeed grabbed the girl and Kadir the horses’ leads. Rashid calmly approached Sayeed, looking over the girl before nodding his approval.

Please, she’s too young, take me instead. Armika, pleadingly, cried out.

Kadir backhanded her. Shut up woman! he commanded as she fell back. It is not you that we seek. Your place is with your husband, where you can make more daughters like this one! he barked, towering over the cowering woman.

Hamdan, using a small dagger, stabbed Rhamon in his side and then let him slip to the ground; the wound severe enough to slow down the man’s pursuit, but not enough to kill him.

Drug them and let’s go, Rashid commanded as he took the lead of Rhamon’s mare, watching as his men forced chloroform-saturated rags over the remaining folks’ faces.

Drug her as well, Rashid ordered, indicating towards Talleigh. We will better disorientate her that way. And take all the horses this time! he instructed as he took Talleigh from Sayeed and lobbed her limb form across the gray mare. We’ll set free the ones we don’t need some distance from here. He then led the mare towards the exit, adding dismissively, Take anything of worth or use.

Just then, Kadir challenged him, You are going soft! There was a time we left none alive.

Rashid felt his hackles rise at that. Kadir’s insistent undermining during raids had recently become irksome, and Rashid was tempted to cripple him and then banish him from the sect. However, he knew if he did that, that the bigot would in all likelihood lead authorities right to them, and instead retorted, A foolish mistake we made for far too many decades.

Ha! Just wait until they come roaming the desert for you, the ghoul, sneeringly, challenged him.

You’re the fool, Kadir! Rashid heatedly replied, If we kill him, he cannot produce more. That is why there are hardly any left for us to breed with, and none to rid us of the likes of you either. and then swung onto the mare, behind Talleigh’s limp body.

He will avenge her, Kadir again challenged.

The desert is vast. He will have to find us first. And even then, there is little he could do, Rashid replied, turning the horse east and leaving his men to follow.

The following morning, another caravan happened upon the raided bayt, and helped them to pick up their dead and pack up their camp, before escorting them to the nearest oasis. Along the way, they regained a few of their straggling horses, before joining up with a larger caravan heading for Dubai.

Chapter One

Nigghann purposefully strode through the vast international arrivals terminal of the Dubai International Airport, walking some distance before turning around and looking back in the direction she had come, restlessly shifting on the balls of her feet. Her fingers irritably played at her sides as she waited for the others to catch up. She hated flying, the cooped-up space, the hours upon hours of sitting – in this instance over fourteen hours’ worth – even when it was on a private jet.

She looked around her. The large terminal was open and airy, displaying the city’s opulent landscape. It should have quelled her need for space, but it was too busy, with too many people about.

Unable to contain her pent up energy, she started pacing, periodically glancing towards the doorway she had entered through. Her actions drew the attention of some nearby tourists, and public in general, who in turn looked at her in concern.

Her dark, shoulder-length hair was pulled back into its usual ponytail, highlighting her sharp facial features and olive skin tone. Which combined with her petite build lent her the appearance of a native – especially since her face was devoid of any excessive makeup. The only thing that set her apart from the natives was her bright green eyes.

Her clothing had been selected for comfort rather than style. The loose fitting black trousers and light, coral-colored blouse were a stark contrast to the apparel of those accompanying her, and she visibly sighed in relief when they finally made an appearance.

Their party of five consisted of herself, her employer Barry Jackson, his wife Martha, their adult daughter Lindsey, and their racehorse trainer Mike Sinise.

Barry was what most referred to as old money, his family having made their fortune in Texan oil. He had inherited several wells, and had subsequently branched out his portfolio to include a string of commercial farms, producing corn, unions and potatoes. He had also expanded the family’s small thoroughbred stud, which had originally been his mother’s hobby. His burly size was clothed in a western suit, complete with silver trimmings, and finished off with a cream Stetson hat, which hid his receding hairline.

His wife, Martha, was a true southern belle, complete with a loving heart and gentle disposition, behind which lay a resolute temperament. Dressed in the finest, and latest, of fashions, Martha possessed the uncanny ability to combine every designer label into an outfit, without her appearance looking outlandish or boorish.

Lindsey was their only child, and had want of nothing. She was a few years younger than Nigghann, owning the delicate features and blond hair of her mother, with her father’s somewhat callous approach to things. Her, and her mother’s, presence in Dubai was more for the shopping, and had little to do with the business that had necessitated her father and Mike’s trip – business that had also imposed Nigghann’s excursion to the arid country.

Mike was a Kentucky based trainer, and one of the best in the country. His elite string of racehorses raced all over the world, having collected accolades from almost every featured race in the industry. He was a staunch believer in the importance of breeding, and would often spend weeks shopping for horses with his clients. A successful career, along with all the trappings of higher society, has had an enlarging effect on his physique, and although not morbidly obese, he was no longer as agile as he used to be, when Nigghann, as an ungainly adolescent, had first met him. Dressed in his usual custom-made suit, with his dark, gray-stippled hair brushed back neatly, he made his way along with the others.

A team of porters followed in their wake, conveying the excessive amount of luggage that accompanied Mrs. Jackson’s every trip.

Nigghann halted her pacing once they had caught up, and turned her attention to Barry, who appeared to be looking for someone.

He should be here, Barry said, his southern drawl dragging somewhat as he looked about.

Who? Lindsay asked.

Abu Tarik. He has graciously offered to be our host during our stay. Martha replied, the lilt of her voice not even betraying the duration of the trip they had recently completed. He’s such a gracious man.

It’s unlike him to be tardy. Barry replied, still looking about them.

The uncomfortable sensation of being watched caused Nigghann to turn from the group, her gaze landing on a young man, who was steadily advancing towards them. He was tall, even for an Arab, dressed in a white kandura. His head was covered with a red ghutra. His determined strides quickly closed the distance that separated him from their group. His gaze seemed fixed on her, and she instinctively pulled herself up to her full height, her hands stilling as he approached.

Nigghann was just about to speak-up when the man halted in front of them, and addressed Barry. Good afternoon Mr. Jackson. I am Khalid Al Fayyad, the youngest son of Sheik Abu Tarik Al Fayyad. My father apologizes for his inability to meet you, and has asked me to accompany you until such a time as he can join you. His accent was less accentuated than most, however still present.

Nigghann turned to look at Barry, having finished her assessment of the stranger; concluding that he was not pure Arab, his brown speckled green eyes suggested foreign, possibly European, blood, although his sharp facial features indicated no more than half. She guesstimated him to be somewhere in his mid to late twenties.

Khalid, it is good to see you, Mike said, stepping forward to pump the man’s hand.

Mike, once again, welcome to my country, Khalid replied, turning his attention to the trainer, before indicating for them to accompany him. Please, this way.

You still breeding Arabians? Mike asked as they started to move, with the porters bringing up the rear.

Yes, my horses have done well this year. Khalid sincerely replied.

You should breed thoroughbreds, it’s more lucrative, Barry earnestly added.

I have no desire to breed horses that have little personality; who cannot cope with the desert, and has need for special facilities. Khalid professed, adding, There is no pleasure in that.

I wouldn’t say that too loudly in front of little Nigghann here, Mike jostled, indicating to Nigghann. She insists that every horse has a personality.

Nigghann felt her ire rise at Mike’s familiar jostling, causing her to narrow her eyes at him when he glanced at her over his shoulder.

His words caused Khalid to turn his head in her direction. He looked her over for a moment, a frown marring his brow before he replied, I agree with her. It is only those who can appreciate a horse’s individuality, who receives the greatest rewards from them. and then inclined his head in her direction.

They slowed on approaching the glass doors separating them from the loading bays, and Mike once again spoke up, You two should compare notes.

There is always something to be learnt from a fellow horseperson, Khalid sincerely replied as the doors silently slid open.

The hot, arid air hit them, causing Nigghann to draw back a step before following a few paces behind. She listened as they exchanged pleasantries, not paying too much attention to the subject matter as they approached a line of black vehicles parked along the curb. Her skin tingled where the sunlight touched it. Even though it was the first month of spring in the desert, the sun was already scorching, instantly warning her skin while calming her nerves. She needed to be outside in the elements, confined and crowded spaces have always frustrated her.

The porters started packing their luggage into the awaiting cars, the first of which was a stretch limousine, not that Nigghann had expected anything less for the Jacksons. She hung back, looking around her, taking in the appearances of various people, breathing in the dry air, which in turn dried her throat somewhat, and made a mental note to ensure she had some water with her at all times.

A tingling sensation in the back of her neck caused her to reach up and rub it, moaning softly as she pulled her neck to the one side to release the tension.

Come on Nigghann, time to go! Martha called, before getting into the limousine.

Nigghann approached the low black vehicle, and took a deep breath before slipping inside. She settled on the soft leather-seat next to Mike, and looked about the vehicle.

You must excuse Nigghann here; she’s not fond of travelling and prefers to stay at home with the horses. Lindsay said when Khalid glanced at Nigghann in question, adding, She doesn’t like being confined.

Khalid nodded, and replied, I can empathize, I also prefer the space of the desert to the confinement of the city, before again inclining his head towards Nigghann.

Nigghann smiled shyly in response, and then lowered her gaze to her hands, which lay folded in her lap. Familiar with Lindsey’s mannerisms, she already felt sorry for the young man, and clenched her hands into fists. Taking a deep breath, with the hope of tempering her ire, the overwhelming scent of Martha’s Red Door perfume inundated her senses. She immediately regretted the action, and fought her instinctive reaction to reach for the window. Even after years, she still struggled to control the inherent reaction she had to strong perfumes, and Martha’s tendency to as good as bath in them had not helped either.

Now then, Barry spoke up as the vehicle pulled from the curb. Once we have settled into our rooms and had some lunch, I suggest we head out to Meydan. I would like Nigghann to have a look at some of the horses.

But I wanted to take the girls shopping, Martha spoke up, somewhat put out. It’s Nigghann’s first trip to Dubai, certainly the horses can wait until tomorrow morning.

My dear, Barry calmly replied, his tone charitable. There will be plenty of time for you to take the girls shopping once the sale starts on Wednesday. But for now, I really need her to have a look at the horses first.

Khalid looked towards Nigghann, before asking, What are you looking for?

We’re looking for another colt, Mike replied, before Nigghann could even speak up. There are a few promising ones listed.

Would you not do better to wait for the Keeneland sales? Khalid asked.

It’s always easier buying a horse that’s already in training than an untried yearling. Besides, some really good horses have found their way here in recent years. Barry replied, effectively drawing Khalid’s attention from Nigghann.

Your father also mentioned that he knows of a few others, who’ve not been listed for the auction. Mike spoke up.

Yes, my father did inform to me of your intent to view other horses as well. I will make the necessary arrangements to see those stabled at Meydan.

"Will your father be joining us?’ Barry asked, his voice conveying a note of dissatisfaction.

I’m sorry to have to disappoint you, but his business will detain him for most of the day. He will however join you for dinner. Khalid said.

I look forward to it, Barry enthused.

A short while later they drew up in front of a lavish beachfront hotel, one Nigghann had earlier been informed belonged to the Al Fayyad family. She was the first to alight from the limousine, taking several deep breaths, while glancing around her, taking in the spacious entrance with its array of luscious plants, which appeared to be real. She stepped over to them, intent on checking, while the others got out of the limousine. Porters, whom all appeared native, descended upon them with trolley carts, and purposefully tended to their luggage.

Nigghann! Barry called her attention, and she turned her head to look towards them, before turning and following them into the atrium.

She looked around the spacious interior, noting the light tone of the décor along with the conscientious use of plants and rich fabrics. The overall effect was serene, with the water feature off to the side lending it the ambiance of a desert oasis. The polished marble floors reflected their somewhat distorted images as they moved towards the reception desk. The sandy, reddish beige hue of the stone was similar in color to that of the photos Nigghann had seen of the eastern dunes outside the city.

Just a moment, Khalid said, causing the entire group to halt. I’ll just see to your rooms, before turning from them and making for the reception desk. Nigghann watched as he drew the attention of a blond woman stationed there. She was dressed in a maroon and gold jacket, with the hotel’s emblem embroidered in gold on the breast pocket.

Good day Bernice, Khalid greeted, My father’s guests have arrived, are their rooms ready?

Good day, Sir, the woman replied in a British accent, before reaching for a set of key cards. Your father insisted on the one penthouse for the family, she started, handing him three gold embossed keycards. And then two smaller ocean view rooms on the floor below them for the lady and gentleman. she continued, handing him two blue embossed cards, before asking, Will you be staying in your suite, or are you returning home this evening?

My father has requested my presence for the week, Khalid impassively replied, taking his suite’s keycard from her as well.

He returned to the awaiting group,