The Storyteller's Daughter (11 page)

“Let your daughter stand back from the windows, but come here yourself, and tell me what you make of what you see.”

Shahrazad’s father gave her arm a quick squeeze, then moved to do the king’s bidding. After a moment he said, “It is a crowd, my lord.”

“I can see that for myself, thank you,” Shahrayar replied, his voice sharp.  “It is their purpose that I cannot fathom. The captain of the guard said they began to gather before sunrise. I had him command them to disperse, but they refused. I fear this may be an uprising.”

“They do not appear to be armed,” Nur al-Din observed, though he had to admit Shahrayar might have good cause to be alarmed even so. Never had he seen so large a crowd assemble in the courtyard, save for the funeral procession honoring Shahrayar’s father.

“Did your captain ask them why they had come?”

“I am the king,” Shahrayar said. “Would you have me inquire of my own subjects?”

“Well, it does seem to be the most straightforward way of learning their intentions,” the vizier said.

“I know why they have come,” Shahrazad spoke up from behind them.

She heard the scrape of Shahrayar’s sandals as he turned around.

“You what?”

“I know why they have come,” she said again. “And why they have refused to leave. Are these things not plain to you also?”

Shahrayar made an exasperated sound. “If they were plain to me, I would hardly have had the chamberlain summon you and your father at a dead run. Stop talking in riddles, and tell me what you think you perceive that I do not.”

The vizier’s head swiveled back and forth as he watched the exchange.
They speak to each other as if they have been married for years,
he thought.

“They came to see an execution,” Shahrazad said simply. “And they have refused to leave because they do not understand why there has not yet been one.”

There was a beat of silence. In it, though Shahrazad could hear her own breath and—she thought—her father’s, it seemed to her that Shahrayar breathed not at all and that even the voices in the courtyard below had fallen silent.

“You mean they came to see
your
execution,” Shahrayar said at last. “Merciful God. What kind of a king am I that my people are so bloodthirsty?”

“It may not be that,” Nur al-Din put in swiftly. “My first thought when I beheld this crowd is that I had not seen so many assembled since the passing of your father. Perhaps they do not come because they think my daughter’s death will be a sport, but to pay witness and to honor her. By her death, many will live.”

“I  think that they are afraid,” said Shahrazad.

“Afraid,” Shahrayar echoed, struck. “By your actions, they have been spared. What have they to fear?”

“Your
actions, my lord. What you have proclaimed must be has not come to pass. Does this bode well or ill? You alone can tell them.”

“You think I should explain myself to my own subjects,” Shahrayar said.

“I think you should allay the fears of the people who loved your father, and who love you, also,” replied Shahrazad. “Fear makes people unpredictable. They become like—”

“Children,” Shahrayar interrupted, for now he saw which way her thoughts were going. “Their fear makes them think of themselves alone. But I am king, and I must think of all.”

“It is a wise king who thinks so,” agreed the vizier.

Shahrayar gave a snort. “So you agree! I should have known. Very well. I will tell my people what is in my mind, for to me this course seems right and just. But I shall not do so alone. Let us stand together upon the balcony, Shahrazad, that all may look upon you when I proclaim that you are to live as long as your story does.”

“As the king commands,” Shahrazad said, and she moved to take her husbands hand and stand by his side.

And Shahrayar told his people what had taken place the night before. That Shahrazad had begun to tell him a story of such wondrous deeds, he could not bear to end her life until the tale was over. For as long as her story lasted, so would her life.

Upon hearing this news, the people wept with amazement and joy. For, in showing such mercy, it seemed to them that the king they had so loved had returned to them once more. And they laid this miracle at Shahrazad’s door. So they shouted all together, with one great voice,
“Long live Queen Shahrazad!”

But even though they lifted their voices as high as the rest, the former queens brothers looked at one another in triumph out of the corners of their eyes. For it seemed to them that Shahrayar had just put a weapon into their hands—one they had never expected to find there.

He had a weakness, and her name was Shahrazad.

“Now,” said Shahrazad that night, “where was I?”

“I know! I know!” Dinarzad cried. “You were telling about the king, and how he was well and truly…”

“Dinarzad,” Shahrazad interrupted, laying a hand on her younger sisters head, for Dinarzad sat at her feet just as she had the night before. “Remember that this is not your story, but Shahrayar’s.”

At Shahrazad’s words, Dinarzad caught her breath. How could she have forgotten herself so? she wondered. Her relief that her sister had been spared, her delight that Shahrazad’s plan seemed to be working had driven every other thought from Dinarzad’s mind. It had even made her forget her awe of Shahrayar.

I
cannot afford to forget,
she thought.
Not while he holds Shahrazad’s life so tightly in his hands.

She hung her head.  “I  beg your pardon, my lord.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Shahrayar said easily from where he stood near the trunk. Never guessing what was in Dinarzad’s thoughts, knowing only that he was secretly delighted that she was as interested in the story as he was. “To tell you the truth, I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who is so eager.”

At his words, Dinarzad’s face lit up in a surprised smile. Shahrayar smiled back.
This is how it should be,
he thought.
Comfortable. Like a family.
And suddenly his whole body was flooded with so many different sensations that he could make no sense of any of them, and he sat down upon the lid of the trunk.

“My lord!” Dinarzad cried in alarm. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” Shahrayar replied, though the truth was, he was far from certain. When had the room grown so warm? “It’s just—perhaps a glass of something cool to drink?”

“Dinarzad,” Shahrazad said. “Ring for a servant, and have him bring His Majesty a cup of water from the deepest well.”

Dinarzad did as her sister instructed while Shahrayar sat motionless upon Maju the Storyteller’s ebony trunk, a great tingling filling all his limbs, but most particularly the region of his heart. The room around him began to shimmer, and suddenly it seemed to Shahrayar that he could see his future unfurling like a great silk ribbon before him.

He blinked, for his eyes were all but blinded by the vision’s textures, its richness, and its color. The life he suddenly envisioned blazed with possibilities, and the greatest one of all was the one he least expected: the possibility for love.

But as yet this chance was nothing more than a bright glimmer in the distance. To reach it, Shahrayar perceived that he would have to pass through places where he could not see his way straight, if at all. Places where the road was filled with traps and shadows. With a thousand nameless, faceless, unguessed-at things that could deprive him of the love for which he suddenly so longed. And just the thought of these dangers twisted like knives in his heart.

For the first time, he began to understand just what he had made of himself in his high tower. For the first time he began to perceive just how terrible it would be to live a life that was truly without love. Worse than terrible—it would be impossible.

Then Shahrazad spoke, and the vision wavered and vanished.

“Here is some cool water, my lord.”

Shahrayar blinked again and saw Dinarzad’s concerned face bending over him. “Thank you,” he said. And he took the cup and drained it in one long swallow. “Now,” he went on, rising to his feet and tossing his cup to the young serving boy hovering in the background, “let us have our story.”

And so saying, he knelt and opened the trunk. The cloth came to his hand as if it had been waiting for him. He took it out and brought it once more to Shahrazad. And as he placed it in her hands, he thought he heard her sigh. Shahrayar took up his same place among the cushions. Dinarzad curled at her sister’s feet as she had the night before.

“Now, let me see,” Shahrazad said as her fingers roamed the cloth. “Oh, yes. The king was well and truly…”

Lost,
Shahrayar thought.

“Lost.
Or so he feared when he realized he had been walking for as long as he could remember, yet seemed no closer to reaching the stream at the bottom of the mountain than he was when he had left the seer and started out. And in all that time, the sun had neither risen nor set, but the king had walked through a pearl-colored twilight.

“Without warning, the words of the seer came back to haunt him. Had she not said his way would be both hard and long? So great did the king’s fear become when he remembered this, he came to a complete stop, and for many moments was unable to go on.

“Oh, get a hold of yourself,
he commanded himself finally.
Stop acting like a baby and start acting like the king you are. You can’t really be lost.  You’re still on the mountain, after all.

“Besides, the seer had not said that his way would be long and hard no matter what. It would be so only if he saw his desire and claimed it not. The king still considered this possibility highly unlikely.

“Remember you are in a place of enchantment,
he reminded himself. And at this, he grew incensed at the unfairness of it all. How were mere mortals supposed to find their way when those who were more than mortal made all the rules but would not reveal what they were ahead of time?

“As a king, he could not approve of such a thing. And so, by degrees, instead of allowing his fear to make him humble and careful, the king worked himself up to a fit of righteous indignation. And because of this, he lost his caution as thoroughly as he had lost his way.

‘“I want off of this mountain,’ he declared.! don’t care how.’

“Now I will share with you a thing that Maju once shared with me,” Shahrazad confided to her sister and husband, her voice melodic and low. “And that is that you should always think at least twice before you speak your innermost thoughts aloud. And more than twice in a place of enchantment where things may have ears that do not in the day-today world.

“And if things that do not usually have ears suddenly possess them, it may be that they have mouths and tongues and wills also. And if they have these things, who knows what they can do?”

“Thus the king soon discovered when he heard a voice declare, ‘Let me help you.’

“At this, the king was so startled that he lost his footing, tumbled to the ground, and began to roll. Down, down, down the mountain he went, taking quantities of earth and rocks with him as he tumbled along. Just as he was sure his very bones would be crushed within him, the miracle occurred.

“Thump!

“With a great crash, the king collided with something. A thing that made a grunt and a cry. He was no longer rolling, and for that the king was grateful. But he was also cross, for the thing that had stopped him was treading on his beard, which suddenly seemed much longer than the king recalled. No sooner had it ceased to tread on his beard than it pulled his hair, which brought tears to his eyes. And so, instead of speaking in gratitude, the king spoke sharply.

‘“Stop that! Why don’t you watch where you’re going, you great oaf?

“Now, I’m sure you will agree that this was hardly the way to speak to another person, for so this thing turned out to be. Particularly a young man whose strong and sturdy body may have just prevented yours from rolling right off the side of a mountain. But by now the king was feeling so altogether thwarted, tricked, and vexed that he no longer cared for anyone but himself and so he no longer cared how he sounded.

‘“What are you doing here? he demanded crossly as he got to his feet and did his best to dust himself off. ‘How dare you bump and bruise me? Don’t you care who I am at all?

““Not in the least,’ the young man said. ‘Why should I? I am on a great quest to find my long-lost father. I was doing just fine until you came tumbling down upon me. A thing which probably saved your life, by the way. You might try being a little nicer.’

“‘I most certainly will not!’ roared the king. “The least you could have done was to notice me coming and get out of the way.’

‘“If I
had
noticed you, I would have,’ the young man roared back, ‘but you came from out of nowhere.’ All of a sudden his eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps that was your intention,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you rolled into me on purpose to thwart me in my quest.’

‘“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,’ the king snapped. I’ve never met your father, and if you’re the best he can do for a son, I’m not surprised that you haven’t either. He probably ran away from you. All I’m trying to do is to get off this mountain.’

“At this, the young man pointed downhill. ‘Try going that way,’ he said.

‘“I
know
that!’ the king shouted. ‘What do you take me for, a total idiot?’

‘“No, only a rude, insensitive boor who rolls into people and then yells at them for no reason,’ the young man shouted right back.

“At this, the king lost his temper so completely he did a thing which, had he been himself, would have shamed him deeply. He picked up a stone, intending to bring it crashing down upon the young man’s head. But no sooner had he raised it high than to his complete and utter astonishment, the stone spoke and said, Your wish is my command.’

“The young man gave a yelp and jumped back. As for the king, he was so amazed, he almost dropped the stone right on his foot.

‘“Did you say something?’ the king asked.