The Tower of Fear Read Online Free

partisans had done the grabbing.
    “The children yelled ‘ Bedija gha! ’ Could that be it? Are the old gods stirring?”
    Bedija gha sprang from an older form of the language. Today it meant “child-stealer.” In Qushmarrah, as in all cities in all times and lands, there were people who wanted to buy children. For whatever reason. So there were others willing to harvest and sell. But before “child-stealer” or “kidnapper,” in the old days bedija gha had had a more sinister and specific meaning, “collector of sacrifices.”
    That had been in the time of Gorloch, cast down and banished by Aram long since. The god’s followers had been dispersed, his temples demolished, and his priests forbidden human sacrifice. He had not gone quickly or quietly, though. Superseded gods never do.
    Aram the Flame had brought light to Qushmarrah but Gorloch had clung to the shadows and it was not till the coming of the Herodians, with their strange, nameless, omnipotent god, that Gorloch’s last High Priest’s time had ended.
    Aaron shivered and glanced uphill. Nakar the Abomination. How he had deserved that name, that dark sorcerer-priest-king unassailable in his citadel. Bless Ala-eh-din Beyh and the Herodians for having laid that terror to rest.
    Laella said, “No, it couldn’t be Gorloch. They say Nakar was the last priest who knew the rites.” Her mother nodded agreement without taking her eyes off the Eagle. “And the Witch never was a believer.”
    “There must be manuscripts that tell about the rituals.”
    “You’re trying to talk yourself into something again, Aaron.” Laella smiled to take the sting out of the admonition.
    She was right. He wanted conspiracies to explain away his fear of something he did not understand. Chances were there was no more child-stealing going on now than there had been at any other time. He was just more aware of it because he and his contemporaries were of an age to have children of an age to be at risk. That and the fact that there had been a rash of kidnappings in the area, some as broad-daylight-brazen as this latest. A thing like that caused a lot of talk that led to more talk that maybe magnified the problem out of all proportion.
    If it were not for the nightmares …
    He realized his arms were aching with the weight of the children. “All right, Stafa. Back to Mom. Arif, down you go. Daddy’s arms are tired.”
    Stafa flashed his little white teeth and shook his head “Can’t,” he said.
    “Yes, you can,” Laella told him. “Come here. Your father’s been working hard all day.”
    “Can’t. My dad.”
    Aaron bent and let Arif down. Arifs feelings were hurt, of course, but he hid that as he always did. He was convinced everyone loved his brother more than him, and no logical argument could reach his heart and convince it that a smaller child always needed more attention.
    The firstborn are always the sad ones, Aaron thought, and felt vaguely guilty. He always seemed to expect more of Arif.
    He leaned toward Laella, who tried to pry Stafa off him. Stafa laughed and declared, “Can’t! Daddy’s Stafa!” He grabbed two fistfuls of Aaron’s hair. Aaron suppressed the usual flash of anger and impatience and played the game out.
    Laella finally peeled the boy off. The battle shifted ground. She wanted to put him down and he did not want to be put. Laella won. Stafa went into a pout, declared, “I hate you, Mom!” He ran and clung to Nana’s leg. But the old woman had no attention to spare.
    Aaron grabbed Arif up and set him on his left hip, ignoring the ache in his arm and shoulders. “Come on, big guy. Let’s see what’s going on.” His relief at finding Arif safe persisted. It left him feeling select and immune and more daring than was his nature. He even managed to meet the Eagle’s eye without flinching.
    *   *   *
    Bel-Sidek dragged his log of a bad leg up the slope of Char Street. It got worse every day. His pride was under ever more severe