Those Anointed with Oil (9)
Maryam fell silent for a moment, then shook her head without a hint of hesitation.
That is most generous of you, but no thank you.
Are you sure you won't regret it?
Your consideration just now has only strengthened my resolve. For someone as powerful and generous as you to need us—what greater opportunity could there be? In all my life, nothing like this has ever come my way, nor will it again in whatever remains. And so— Maryam drew a deep breath and pressed on firmly. —and so I must seize this chance right now. Firmly, with no room for turning back.
You won't even ask where I plan to use you?
No.
Why not?
Because the faith I offer you must not be so calculating. You said you seek our loyalty, and that loyalty is fulfilled through faith. What folly to diminish that faith's value myself?
Faith unasked for is the most precious?
Yes. Her voice softened a touch as she added, And... before my siblings, I cannot show even the slightest waver. To ensure that, I must first steady myself. So I need that same faith for my own sake. Forgive my presumption if it offends.
No. Who would dislike someone refusing to haggle?
She seemed more impressive the longer I watched. How does a mind this sharp emerge from an environment where even basic education was a luxury? Her life story had inevitably left traces of reticence, but polish her right, and she'd shine like a gem.
She must have inherited her hero's blood for the better.
Twenty riders, she'd said. Founding a nation with just two dozen cavalrymen? No ordinary hero. And in the modern era, no less.
I leaned back against the headrest and spoke.
One thing I must make clear.
What is it?
There is no place under me for those who do not fight. Be prepared for that much, at least.
Maryam bowed her head calmly. Great One. Lead us to become your warriors.
Her abundant hair cascaded to either side. Bowing one's head like this wasn't etiquette in Islamic culture—not to people, anyway. Muslims knelt only to Allah, the Prophet, and his rightful deputies. Her choice of warrior echoed my earlier description of Suyeon, clearly leaving an impression.
I instructed the pilot to change course.
Turn the bird around. Head for waters off Macao.
East of Macao Airport's control zone?
Yes.
As the helicopter banked, Maryam asked, Where are we heading now?
Anywhere. Somewhere without people.
……?
You said you need faith even to deceive yourself. I'll help with that. Today, you will be reborn.
Maryam looked puzzled, but I offered no lengthy explanation.
To etch a circuit into another's soul required deploying a mana field over a certain radius. The estuary where the Pearl River met the sea was dotted with uninhabited isles, making it easy to find a spot kilometers from any humans.
As I fell quiet, Maryam's gaze shifted to the land below. She pressed her forehead to the window, entranced by the chaos on the ground. Warm breath escaped her parted lips, fogging the cold glass in rhythmic blooms that faded and reformed—a wintry white, unlike her dark eyes.
Even without the chaos, night views of sprawling cities from the sky were spectacle enough. For a Muslim woman born in the backlands, who'd never flown, all the more so.
Bzzz. My phone vibrated as we passed over Zhongshan. A message with an attached image.
I deleted the image—of a corpse riddled with bullets to torso and face—and pocketed the phone.
Soon the ground gave way to sea. Vast, flat darkness, speckled with man-made lights. The brightest came from fishing boats chasing anchovies and shrimp. Decades of overfishing had wrecked nearshore stocks, but in an age where magic infused all life, those waters had become safer havens.
Maryam asked, Is this the sea?
Yes.
Incredible... It feels like flying between two skies.
Poetic. My senses, limited to normal vision, couldn't share the awe.
I directed the pilot to land on a barren island's beach. They'd cleared land for a pier and facilities—development stalled, heavy equipment dust-blanketed, steel and containers rusted. Effectively deserted.
The landing gear touched down. A light jolt climbed the seat. Dust billowed in waves beneath the slowing rotors.
I told the cockpit to kill the engines and wait. With the turboshaft whine gone, waves crashed close.
I opened the door, stepped out, then helped Maryam down.
Ah...
Seabreeze hit her; she stared, rapt at the night harbor.
Stars everywhere.
A rotating lighthouse beam swept from the south-southwest, its ray racing across the dark sea. Four days to the full moon; a bright, plump lunar disk hung west, haloed.
Somewhere, a long horn wailed. A literal otherworld for an inland-raised soul. Perfect spacetime for new beginnings.
Let's walk a bit.
Strolling the beach with her, I stopped where the sand was fine.
This'll do.
I turned to face her, two steps behind. Even in the subtropics, winter winds chilled; without her hijab, she hugged her shoulders.
Kneel.
No hesitation—she dropped to her knees and bowed her head. Fitting for one who prized unasked faith. Quick mind, yes, but I sought no mere perfect manners.
Head up.
Kneeling prevented collapse or falls during the process; head up eased palm on crown.
I gripped the apostate's head. Now, I will infuse your soul with new power.
A flicker of shock crossed her face at last. New power... you mean?
It will help you deceive even yourself and forge you into an exceptional warrior. Think of it as a false prophet's false blessing on a follower.
Great One. I don't understand.
You'll see once you receive it. I only warn you now: no matter what happens, don't panic. Prepare your mind.
...I don't fully grasp it, but I am ready. Entrust everything to you—do as you will.
Then we begin.
I surged my soul's circuit field outward. Vast mana essence, caught in my dominance, swirled into a vortex around me. To an onlooker: a torrent of prismatic light pouring into a man.
The dense soul circuit refined the influx to mana. I drove it mercilessly into her crown.
Hooop—! Maryam gasped, stunned by the novel sensation.
My controlled mana etched a precise circuit into the apostate's soul. Circulating paths, branching paths. Flawless channels, no resistance or waste.
Crude and primitive next to mine or London's masters, yet with potential surpassing Round Table grunts.
Credit to my mentor-pig, Lord Crowhurst, master of soul-circuit magic. I recalled his form shifting freely in my mental domain—overwhelming prowess.
Getting tough now.
Her circuit formed its own field, repelling mine—a new dominance over mana essence and power.
I crushed it with sheer output, perfecting the etching. Once released, no second chance.
But limits came. Her field strengthened with circuit completion. Risking damage to the work, I withdrew.
Shuddering—not from cold now—she couldn't rise. Ah... aaah...?
Her upturned face swirled: doubt, shock, fear, awe,emotion. Settling into fervent worship.
Great... One... What... are you...? She clutched her solar plexus, breaths ragged.
Opening the soul circuit meant awakening a sixth sense for mana essence and power. As an Awakened, she now felt a grand magus's field at full stretch.
Round Table masters dubbed themselves chosen in such moments, reaping fanatical devotion.
I struck first, calmly. I'm no god, no prophet, certainly no world's savior. Just a man with special power and skill.
I retracted the field, but her gaze stayed pinned. Bruising around her eyes faded fast.
Get up.
No turning back now; I switched to casual address.
She staggered up, drunk-like.
That stare could sear.
Some subordinates had looked at me so before—despite knowing the full story.
Natural awakening turned cartel bosses fanatical; artificial? Far more.
Precise circuits heightened sensitivity to others' presences.
Soon your siblings will undergo the same, gain the same power. No need to fear them crumbling in terror, as you worried.
……
Snap out of it. Time to go.
She nodded, followed to the chopper—but still dazed, so I buckled her in again.
Her trance lingered the whole return flight. Unblinking stare growing uncanny.
Finally landing on Becklux's deck, she bowed under moonlight.
Great One. Grant me your name, I beg.
I shook my head slowly. Regrettably, I cannot reveal my true name.
Not even closest like Suyeon or Kyung-tae knew my orphanage name. Mentor-pig had erased those orphans' records deliberately—no papers anywhere.
Knowing it might sound religious, no choice.
Trembling, she pressed: Then how shall we address you?
Whatever title you wish, so long as it's not excessive or insulting. It's the heart behind it that matters.
Then... like Asma ul-Husna.
Not quite that grandiose...
Asma ul-Husna: Allah's ninety-nine names. The Most Merciful, The Sovereign, Giver of Peace, The Greatest, Bestower of Power, etc. Islamic names like Alim or Rashid derived thence.
Slowly, deliberately, she prostrated on the cold deck—Islamic prayer pose, palms, nose, forehead to ground.
Bestower of power to man. Guide us as your will decrees.
Her self-imposed bond drew a brief sigh from me.
Welcome as my subordinate, Maryam Batur. I expect exploits worthy of your blood.