Princess of Dhagabad, The (27 page)

“Where is the entrance to the temple, Hasan?”
she asks.

“All the ancient temples have their entrances
facing east, princess. That’s why we approached the eastern wall of
the pyramid.”

“Are we going to pass through that wall,
Hasan?”

“By all means, princess.”

The next moment the princess feels her body
sink into a cold gray substance. She can feel Hasan’s hand firmly
holding hers, but she cannot see anything except the dense,
impenetrable mist. Hasan’s hand pulls her forward and, pushing with
difficulty through the strange substance, she finally emerges on
the other side. It is completely dark in here. By the faint
movement of air that gently touches her face, and by the hollow
echo of the slightest sound she makes, she realizes that the space
inside the pyramid is huge.

“I can’t see a thing, Hasan,” she whispers,
scared by the sudden loudness of her voice. “Is there no light at
all in here?”

“Don’t worry, princess. We’ll make some light
in a second.” Hasan releases her hand; and the princess sees a red
flash above her head, blinding to her eyes, already accustomed to
the darkness. The giant space lights up with something resembling
the uneven flame of oil lamps. Raising her head, she sees a huge
lantern floating above, scaring away the ancient shadows that
inhabit the mysterious pyramid.

Holding her breath, the princess looks
around. The wall they came through angles upward, disappearing into
the darkness above their heads. Rows of strange painted signs and
figures cover this wall as far as the eye can see. Looking ahead,
the princess can barely make out a dim outline of a strange stone
structure in the depths of the pyramid. A building, square at the
base, running upward in large tapering steps, is surrounded by a
row of columns. Unlike all the temples the princess has ever
seen—usually covered with inscriptions, ornaments, and
decorations—the dark stone walls of the Temple of the Great
Goddess are hewn smooth, with their polished surface reflecting the
light of the lantern.

The princess more guesses at than sees the
entrance in the shadows surrounding the temple by the interruption
in the uneven reflection of the lantern. She follows Hasan inside,
walking under the mysterious vault, feeling the spirit of the
strange ancient magic close around her.

The lantern above the princess’s head
illuminates a giant square room. Smooth stone floor reflects every
movement, making the princess feel as if, instead of walking in the
temple, she is flying in a strange space with no sides and
directions, without top or bottom, where the intertwined lines on
the ceiling fold into a spiral, reflecting in the endless mirror of
the floor, twisting all shapes and distances, so that the square
hall gradually turns into a sphere, giant as the universe.

The princess can now see that all the walls
of the room are covered by a continuous row of murals depicting the
figures of dancing women. Dark slim bodies of the priestesses are
frozen in different movements of the same, extraordinary dance.
Following the dancing figures with her eyes, circling in the middle
of the giant hall, the princess picks up, gesture by gesture, step
by step, the smooth movement of the Dance of the Great Goddess. And
gradually it starts to seem to the princess as if the priestesses
leave the walls, moving toward her; and in the center of the
endless sphere—without top or bottom, without time or space—they
combine into one phantom figure, the essence of the dance of the
old sacred cult. A ghostly priestess—with unclear features of no
known race, carrying inside her something from every dancer in the
world, from all the dancing priestesses depicted on the temple
walls—shifts her body in smooth, endlessly flowing movements.

Looking at the Dance of the Great Goddess,
the princess forgets everything. She wants to admire forever the
perfection of the slim figure; she wants to rush forward, to unite
into a single being with this ghostly deity, to turn into one of
the dancing figures on the walls, so that she can forever be a part
of the sacred dance. She forgets her name, forgets all about the
world that splinters in blasts of fresh wind and sunbeams somewhere
outside these walls. She stretches out her arms toward the dancing
figure that is at the same time so perfect, so close, and so
distant from her; and tears of joy, happiness and unbearable
sadness run down her cheeks.

A low rumble shakes the stones of the
pyramid. The floor trembles underfoot. The ghostly priestess of the
dance falls apart into separate movements, separate figures that
step back into the walls and freeze in separate poses, continuing
in a single smooth flow. The princess starts to realize who she is
and where she stands. She feels Hasan’s hand in hers and looks
around, slowly coming to her senses.

The second blow, even stronger than the
first, makes her stagger. Uselessly pressing hands to her ears,
trying to shut out the sounds of the deep rumble that fills the
temple, the princess loses her balance; and only Hasan’s firm hand
keeps her from falling. A blaze of white light shines ahead of
them, under the vault of the spiral ceiling. Reaching unbearable
brightness, the light starts to fade and finally disappears,
leaving behind a dark outline of a human figure.

In the reddish light of her lantern the
princess studies the man standing before them. At first he seems
very young—lean, muscular body; dark, lively face; black, dryly
sparkling eyes. But looking closer the princess starts to feel an
ancient power in the strange man, somewhat resembling the power
that flows from Hasan. And something else, more human—nervous
restlessness, forcefulness, aggressiveness—and a complete lack of
kindness. His clothes, like Hasan’s, are simple and elegant. The
princess looks with curiosity at the stranger’s wrists, seeing no
metal bracelets, nor anything else that could signify a slave.
Perhaps their new companion is a great mage, but he is not
all-powerful. The man standing in front of them is not a djinn.

“How dare you, O miserable ones, disturb the
peace of the ancient temple?” The stranger’s voice rings with
force. Terrified, the princess looks at Hasan and, to her surprise,
sees a smile of amazement on his face.

“Abdulla?” Hasan says slowly.

The stranger freezes on the spot and peers at
Hasan’s face.

“Hasan?” he exclaims. “I’ll be struck by
darkness!”

He impatiently snaps his fingers to summon a
whole swarm of floating lanterns. The square hall is illuminated as
bright as in daylight, revealing every last detail of the ancient
temple. It seems to the princess that the figures of the
priestesses depicted in dance press harder into the walls,
pretending to be simple murals drawn by the awkward hand of an
ancient artist, and thus hiding themselves until the moment when
the dusk will again rule this place.

The strange man and Hasan move toward each
other.

“I never expected to see you here, Abdulla,”
Hasan says.

“If you talk of expectations, Hasan, I was
told some unbelievable things about you. I was told you became a
djinn!”

“It is true, Abdulla.”

“In that case, how did you end up here, in my
secret place? Aren’t djinns supposed to stay in their containers?”
Something in Abdulla’s voice makes the princess tremble. His smile
is frightening as it contorts his pale face without touching his
restless eyes.

Hasan chuckles, seemingly oblivious to this
discord. “Apparently you don’t know very much about the djinns,
Abdulla. By the way, I didn’t know this temple became your secret
place.”

“Many things changed in this world in the
last two millennia, Hasan,” Abdulla says sharply.

Hasan’s smile widens. “I know that. Speaking
of secret places, wasn’t I the one to bring you here for the first
time, Abdulla?”

Abdulla frowns in displeasure. “I never
forgot you were my teacher, Hasan. True, you were the one to show
me this temple, but during the last two thousand years it became
mine. No one except me ever came here to enjoy the vision of the
sacred dance.”

“I came here to show the sacred dance to my
mistress,” Hasan says calmly.

“Your mistress?” Abdulla’s dark eyes fix on
the princess and she unwittingly steps backward. A wicked sparkle
shines in his gaze.

“She’s mortal, Hasan!” he exclaims. “The
mortals cannot see the sacred dance without help from the
priestesses.”

“I thought so too, Abdulla. But it seems we
both know even less about mortals than you know about the
djinns.”

“I never liked your sarcasm, Hasan!”
Abdulla’s face twitches, his dark eyes lighting up with a dangerous
gleam. The princess shivers and glances at Hasan, whose smile is
still open and pleasant, as if he is talking to an old friend.

“I stopped being your teacher because you
couldn’t control yourself, and this lack of control interfered with
your learning, Abdulla. On the other hand, such unruliness ended up
serving you well. Thanks to that, you are still not a djinn.”

Abdulla raises his chin as if he has been
slapped. “Don’t pretend that being a djinn is such an honor, Hasan!
What’s all your power worth if you can’t move a finger without
somebody’s orders?”

“I never said it was an honor, Abdulla,”
Hasan says calmly.

“By the way, I was never unhappy with what
you call my unruliness, Hasan! True, because of that I lost the
wisest of teachers that ever walked this earth—” Abdulla
sarcastically bows to Hasan “—but you shouldn’t think I ever
regretted that! At the time when you buried yourself in piles of
books that filled your dusty hole of a house, I was the fame and
glory of Dimeshq! The wisest sages bowed to my knowledge! The
fairest beauties that ever existed threw themselves at my feet!
Each of them was honored to gratify my wildest fantasies, the same
ones that you call my unruliness with such distaste!”

“I also passed through that stage at one
time,” Hasan says with a smile.

“And foolishly rejected that! You couldn’t
hold on to your happiness and are now paying for that with your
slavery!”

“You can put it this way if you like,
Abdulla. I passed through the stage of vanity, and you seem to have
stayed there for a much longer time.”

“And I don’t regret that, Hasan! I have
everything one can ever dream of!”

“I am glad for you, Abdulla. Your way does
not hold wisdom, but probably it holds happiness—”

“Enough philosophy! I’m stronger than you
are, O wise teacher!” Abdulla laughs, a disturbing sound that makes
the princess think of the screech of metal on glass. “You always
won in our magic duels, but now you can’t even move a finger in
your defense! Finally, Hasan the mighty, Hasan the wise himself is
in my hands! I can smash you like a bug any second!”

“I’m not sure this will make you happy,
Abdulla.” Merry sparkles dance in Hasan’s eyes, and he smiles with
his careless smile looking straight at Abdulla.

“You want me to destroy you, Hasan?” Abdulla
asks sharply. “You, an all-powerful djinn, wish for your dumb
apprentice to put an end to your suffering in slavery?”

Hasan silently meets his gaze.

Sudden tears fill the princess’s eyes. Does
Hasan really want to die, hating his immortality as her slave? Has
he been provoking Abdulla on purpose? Can this angry, restless,
unruly boy with wisdom of centuries behind his back really destroy
Hasan? What will her life be like without Hasan? How could she live
without her best friend who is so dear to her? No! She would rather
die with him than allow this to happen!

The princess steps forward, biting back
tears. She wants to throw herself between Hasan and his former
apprentice, throw herself in the way of his destructive power. And
then she remembers something and wild hope awakens in her
heart.

“You can’t do anything to Hasan, Abdulla!”
she yells. “I will order Hasan to defend himself and he will
destroy you! Hasan is stronger than you are.”

Abdulla’s narrow eyes slip in her direction
with cold calculation.

“I forgot about the girl,” he says
thoughtfully. “She can really get in the way. How about me freeing
you from slavery, Hasan? Or, even better, I could get you all for
myself, to use as I please. Yes, that would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
Abdulla raises his hands.

“Don’t touch her, Abdulla,” Hasan warns. “I
can use my magic to protect her.”

“In that case”—Abdulla lowers his
hands—“let’s stick to the original plan. I won’t harm your
mistress, Hasan. But I don’t want her to ruin my plans either. I
will distract her by giving her a toy no child could possibly
resist.”

A wisp of white smoke, coiling and twisting
like a serpent, rises from Abdulla’s outstretched palm. Holding her
breath, the princess follows the movements of the white line that
grows, slightly diffusing on the edges, and walks off Abdulla’s
hand onto the floor, turning into a dancing shape. A strange
sexless creature of grotesquely thin and long proportions circles
and twists in the movements of a beautiful unknown dance that
doesn’t resemble at all the Dance of the Great Goddess, but
nevertheless in a different way attracts and absorbs all the
princess’s attention. Again she forgets where she is; she doesn’t
feel her body anymore, sinking with all her being into the
movements of the white creature. She forgets Hasan, the temple, and
the wicked Abdulla. She does not remember the magic duel in which
Hasan is going to die because he cannot defend himself without her
orders.

A flash of energy shakes the walls. Through
the twists and turns of the white dancer’s movements the princess
feels something invisible, possessing enormous destructive power,
fly off Abdulla’s fingertips, fly with horrifying slowness—or is
it the flow of time that is so slow in this temple from the other
world?—toward Hasan, standing motionless in the middle of the
giant hall. Soon this wave of energy will reach Hasan and then…
The princess shakes off the enchantment; and the white figure falls
apart to turn back into the smoke that formed it, falls apart
leaving behind nothing but a slight quiver of air.