Where is Manar?
Book One: The Twin Star
Chapter 12: The Weight of Smoke
—
After half a day of waiting, the earth began to tremble violently.
"Gigi... what is this power? This pressure is crushing me! Are they at war?" Ahmed asked, sweating under the weight of the energy emanating from beneath the earth — as if the air had become unbearably heavy.
Gigi laughed a laugh like bones grinding together: "No, child... They've completed the preparation rituals... Gigi gigi gigi."
"Who did they summon...?" Ahmed asked with enthusiasm, trying to hide his fear.
"I told you, child — not summoning. Preparation. And we won't follow the guests — we'll follow their trail... Gigi gigi gigi."
Ahmed turned to her in confusion: "What's the difference?"
"You're truly stupid, aren't you?" She mocked him with her distorted features, then continued: "I'll teach you. But answer me first... Am I beautiful? And what part of me fascinates you the most? Gigi gigi gigi."
Ahmed looked into her terrifying eyes coldly, then smiled widely: "Oh Gigi... you foolish child. Do you think your traps work on me? Thanks... I don't like children."
Her teeth clicked in frustration. She continued her explanation in an annoyed tone:
"Listen... Summoning is for servants. It doesn't require major sacrifices — they're bound by pre-existing contracts. But Evocation... that's inviting entities no one dares call unless they're willing to sell their soul to become servants. They are masters, not slaves."
Ahmed opened and closed his lighter mechanically — tick tock, tick tock — staring at the cave mouth: "So the sorcerers sold their souls now?"
"No... The guests who arrived matched those who received them in power. It was a discussion among equals. And it seems they've finished."
As she spoke, the pressure lifted from the air. Ahmed breathed in relief: "Finally, air back in my lungs."
"Get ready... They'll start moving. We'll follow them, but with deadly caution. This situation signals disaster," Gigi warned with rare seriousness.
—
CRRRRRRAAAAACK!
The great boulder shifted. From within emerged smoky apparitions — sorcerers wrapped in a veil of blackish-green smoke. They shot like arrows toward the heart of the sky.
"Now! We follow them. Stay alert — to the highest degree."
"Okay, Gigi... Sho tack!"
Ahmed ignited his flame. His body burned and transformed into smoke, flowing in their wake. They flew at insane speed for twenty-five minutes, until they cut through the skies of the Algerian desert. And there... Ahmed felt something at the back of his neck.
SHOOOOO... MMMMMM!
"Hello, little rat. I knew there was a rat's trail following me from the start."
A figure intercepted him, turning the sky into brownish-green dust. A man in a black coat and a rabbi's hat, surrounded by smoke — green tinged with black — spreading over the dunes like the shadow of a graveyard.
The black smoke (Ahmed) shot forward, trying to escape. But the green dust wouldn't allow it. It began encircling him, creating a narrow space between two clouds: one black, one dark green — but the green was twice as large.
With every escape attempt, the lighter made that sharp metallic sound...
Tick... Tock...
A brief flame exploded, igniting the black cloud, then darkness returned. The scene repeated with hysterical speed until the rabbi began losing patience.
A suffocating pressure weighed on Ahmed's chest. Inside the black cloud, gray cracks appeared on his skin. His breathing became heavy and restricted — like being trapped in a shrinking room.
Tick.
A brief flame.
Tock.
Darkness returned.
The green fog advanced toward him again... But just as a hand from that fog was about to reach him...
Tick.
Ahmed vanished. As if he was never there — only a faint echo, smoke twisting in the air... then silence.
"Wretched fire-dancer." The rabbi snarled from within his green cloud.
—
"Gigi gigi gigi. Was it fun, child?" Gigi floated around Ahmed with her pigtails and strange skirt.
"It wasn't fun. He attacked without asking." Ahmed said, hiding behind a dune over three kilometers away.
Tick.
"What now, boy? Are you scared? Gigi gigi gigi gigi."
"No. I'm not scared. You're such an annoying child. I'm undefeated."
"Gigi gigi gigi. You'll need great courage to go where they're heading."
"Is the place fun?" Ahmed perked up immediately.
"According to the smoke trails and the map of global chaos... the heart of the Near East is the explosion point." Gigi's eyes turned cloudy, as if seeing something invisible.
"Gigi, don't speak in riddles. Where is this heart? I don't understand."
"Hmm... It's in that direction. In today's language, you'd call it... Iraq." Gigi pointed where the sorcerers had vanished.
"Does this have anything to do with yesterday's eclipse?"
"Who knows? Maybe I'll tell you — if you answer me first. Am I beautiful? Gigi gigi gigi gigi." She brought her distorted face close to his.
As her laugh faded, the sand beneath Ahmed's feet suddenly froze. The light of his lighter dimmed, swallowed by darkness. Nothing remained in the desert but the sound of Gigi's teeth clicking coldly.
—
[Iraq - Babylon - The Ancient City]
A convoy of three cars cut their monotonous path toward the heart of history. At the rear, a Range Rover followed cautiously, heading toward the ancient city of Babylon — where the secrets of civilizations that taught humanity its first alphabet still sleep.
WOOF WOOF WOOF! 📞
In the back seat, a young man slept deeply, sprawled across all three seats — until that sound cut through.
WOOF WOOF WOOF! 📞
He woke to the "barking" of his phone. Not just a ringtone — actual barking, like a rabid dog.
"You with the damn dogs! Answer your cursed phone or shut it up, or I'll throw it out the window." A fat, bald man in the front seat spoke. Thick beard, sunglasses. He wore black military attire with no insignia or rank.
The driver — a man in his thirties with carefully styled hair and sunglasses — simply smiled mysteriously, watching the road in silence.
The awakened young man stretched with his usual rebellious style, hair tied back, and picked up his phone lazily: "Which dog is waking me now? By the great sewer people..."
[My Second Mother: Calling you]
Click.
"Hey, Sami. How's it going, brother?" The young man's voice was heavy with sleep.
Sami's voice came through, agitated: ["Maytham, you dog! Where are you? By every deviant and every pitbull on this earth!"]
"Sorry, bro. Been busy the last two days. I'll explain when I get back." Maytham searched under the seat for his cigarettes.
["When are you coming back? Your father's really worried. I managed to convince him you're okay. Call him — or don't blame anyone but yourself."]
Maytham lit a cigarette, took a long drag: "Okay, I will. Just stop playing 'mother mode.' I told you I've been busy."
["Okay... And how's Dajja? Still a son of a bitch?"]
Maytham glanced at the back of the fat man in front of him and whispered sarcastically: "Still fat as the frog in the reading book. You know — first time I've seen a frog with a beard?"
"Damn you and your barber wife! You're so annoying." Dajja growled without turning, knowing Maytham was practicing his favorite hobby.
"Yeah yeah — keep your cool. Don't get stressed. You'll get diabetes or high blood pressure or something. God willing."
"Sons of single mothers. You'd never be clean even if you washed in Zamzam water for forty days." Dajja sounded exhausted by these two.
The driver chuckled quietly behind the wheel.
Sami continued on the other end: ["So when are you coming back?"]
"Don't know. This mission might take two weeks."
["Be careful, Maytham. Dajja can't be trusted. He'll sell you at the first turn. Never lower your guard."]
"How could I forget? Things are under control."
A brief silence, then Sami asked in a different tone: ["Maytham... Do you feel something strange?"]
"Strange like what? I'm living with a bearded frog. That's strange enough."
["They say there was an eclipse yesterday, but I didn't see any darkness. Everyone's talking about it. The air feels heavy... reminds me of when Mom used to tie us up and beat us. Same suffocating feeling — but this time the chains aren't on my hands. They're on my steps. Like something's pulling me from inside."]
Maytham tried to escape the serious tone: "Damn, bro. Change the channel! I don't care what's chaining you. I'm freer than ever. Anyway — heard the news? Ali the boxer did it!"
["Ali? Yeah, one of the monkeys told me."]
"Yeah! He beat the Chechen boxer in a friendly match! Imagine — beating the strongest, and he's unknown in this field."
They talked briefly about Ali's upcoming pride, and their need for tranquilizers to handle his victory headache — before Sami suddenly cut the call after a shouting match with someone, curses flying.
"Tsk. Dirty dog. I don't know who stepped on your tail, but you deserved it."
—
Maytham hung up. Exhaled smoke. Began skillfully putting on his bulletproof vest, preparing his dagger and pistol, then checked his M16 magazine.
"So, Toadstool**..." Maytham addressed Dajja, "Aren't you tired of all this circling? Tell me what we're really doing here. I think I deserve an explanation now."
Maytham rambled on, but Dajja was in another world.
He smelled burnt sulfur — a smell no one else could detect. Coming from far away... from the west.
"They've started..." Dajja thought. He felt his jaw tighten.
In the side mirror, Dajja glimpsed a black shadow pass over the car's roof and vanish in the blink of an eye. The Range Rover shook slightly — Maytham, busy with his weapons, didn't notice.
On both sides of the road, between scattered palm trees, shapes moved with calculation and precision. Shapes that didn't belong to the animal kingdom.
Dajja glanced at the driver. They exchanged a quick look — confirming that both saw what Maytham couldn't.
All this gathering. All these forces. For one thing buried deep in the Temple of Ninmakh.
Dajja turned off his phone. Removed the battery. Gestured for the others to do the same.
Then he leaned his elbow on the door and looked at Maytham with a strange tone — one stripped of sarcasm for once:
"You filthiest bastard I've ever known... Let me tell you a beautiful story."
— End of Chapter 12 —
—
Author's Notes:
** Toadstool:
A loose translation of the Iraqi slang "Dabboul" — used to describe someone chubby and dim-witted. Toadstool captures the tone, if not the exact word.