The Storyteller's Daughter (18 page)

“No!”
it cried and thrust its head straight into Shahrayar’s stomach, knocking him down. Instantly Shahrazad flung herself across him, and beside her was Dinarzad.

The eldest brother swore viciously when he saw what had been done. Much as he desired Shahrayar’s death, he was not yet so far gone that he would make war on unarmed women. That would be the act of a coward. So he turned his sword on ‘Ajib, the one who had foiled his attempt on the king.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed.

“Leave him alone!” the second brother cried. “If not for him, we never would have come so far.” And so they began to quarrel even in the midst of their triumph. But Shahrayar did not notice this. Instead, he made an anguished sound. The reason ‘Ajib’s face had stayed in his mind was suddenly clear. Viewed alongside his brothers, his resemblance to them was plain. Though each was different, they were still as alike as coins struck from the same mold.

“Ah!” Shahrayar said. “I see it now. I have harbored a snake.”

“Truly,” the second brother agreed with a sharp laugh. “A viper. But now that we are victorious, he need hide no longer.”

He signaled the soldiers to move forward.

“Give up your sword,” he said to Shahrayar, “or I will make your wife and her sister suffer for it, though I keep them alive.”

“Shahrayar,” Shahrazad cried in a low voice. Not because she feared for herself, but because she knew what he would do, even though he did not love her. Beside her, Dinarzad began to weep once more, and at the sound, ‘Ajib turned his head toward her as if pulled by a cord.

“Dinarzad.”

“Do not speak to me, traitor!” she sobbed. “For a snake speaks always with a forked tongue.”

“I am waiting,” the second brother said.

“So,” said Shahrayar. He got to his feet, and the women fell back. Hilt first, Shahrayar presented his sword. No sooner had he done so than the second brother snatched it up and brought the hilt Shahrayar had presented down upon his head. The king dropped to the floor like a stone. At this, the soldiers seized the two women. Then the second brother knelt before the first and presented him with Shahrayar’s sword.

“The palace is ours,” he said. And then he grinned. “What do you command shall be done with the prisoners, my lord?”

The first brother reached with greedy fingers for Shahrayar’s sword. “Let the[_ former_] king be imprisoned in the darkest dungeon that may be found. No light. No air. No sound. Though he be alive, let him be put in such a place as will make him long for death.”

“And the women?”

“Let the girl be kept fast in her own rooms. Take the sorceress to the highest tower. Perhaps she will find a way to admire the view.”

So saying, the eldest brother laughed. And all that he had commanded to pass was made so.

And now began a time which, forever after, the people of that land called the Days Without Light. For though the sun shone as fiercely as ever, the light that had sprung from the teachings of Shahrayar’s father seemed, with Shahrayar’s imprisonment, to have been completely snuffed out. It was hidden away in a place of great darkness, just as Shahrayar was.

Now fear walked abroad in the land, for the new king’s spies were everywhere, and a man could be deprived of all he held dear for no more than an unclean thought. Yet how a thought could be ascertained when it was never spoken aloud, none could tell. It was a thing known to the king’s spies alone.

Soon friend was divided from friend, and neighbor from neighbor. Mother from daughter, wife from husband, father from son. No one knew who could be trusted anymore, and so they trusted none. And in this way, a great darkness covered all the land, for it came to dwell in every heart. And in this way did Shahrayar’s people come to understand what it was to live beneath a tyrant’s thumb.

Great barricades went up in and around the city.  For it seemed to the newly proclaimed king that it could not be long before Shazaman would come with an army to defend his brother and reclaim the throne. But the days passed, the tension increased, and still Shazaman did not come. Gradually the barricades fell into disrepair as the king and his brothers became complacent.

See! How easy it was to rid ourselves of this Shahrayar,
they congratulated themselves.
We are so strong, none dare oppose us.
And so they stopped being vigilant, but the Days Without Light went on.

For now that nothing could contradict their will, the brothers’ true natures were revealed—the new king’s most of all. For it was soon seen that he was one who could only put on the outward raiment of a king. He did not possess the heart of one. His people mattered nothing to him. All that mattered was that he sat upon a throne.

Fights broke out within the city as the people daily grew more desperate and hungry. For here, unrecognized by the king and his brothers, the true battle was being waged by Shazaman.

Knowing that it would take time to raise an army to come to Shahrayar’s aid, Shazaman had cut off supplies to the city at once. No caravans had arrived from Samarkand since the day Shahrayar had been deposed. In this, though it grieved his heart to know the people would suffer, Shazaman followed not only his own counsel, but that of Nur al-Din Hasan.

For the fool’s errand Shahrayar had assigned to his vizier had turned out to serve both well. The vizier was not within the palace when it fell. Hearing what had happened, he made for Samarkand at once to join forces with Shazaman. This his mind knew was the proper thing to do, though it cost his heart dearly, for he had to leave his daughters behind.

When he learned of the peoples desperate condition, the new king posted soldiers around the royal granaries and storehouses so they might be secured for his use alone. In this way did the people learn that as long as the king himself ate well, he did not care if they starved. In fury and desperation, they dared to storm the palace itself. Their numbers were so great, they overcame the guards and streamed into the courtyard where once so many had gathered to see Shahrazad’s execution and had learned instead that she would keep her life.

But life was not a thing those who came to the palace learned that day. It was a day to learn of death alone. For the king had his fiercest soldiers cut the people down until the stones of the courtyard ran with blood and were stained red from that day forward. At this, the riots ceased. None came to the palace, and the king and his brothers congratulated themselves yet again.

“See how the people fear and obey me,” the new king cried. “Living under Shahrayar has made them weak and bold at the same time. They thought that they could challenge a king’s authority. But I have proved them wrong!”

All it had taken was a firm hand. There would be no more uprisings.

Out of all the brothers, only ‘Ajib had watched events unfold with horror in his heart. From her tower, Shahrazad heard the cries of the people and wept until she could weep no more. And in later years it was said that if one could find a place in that terrible courtyard that was not stained red, it would be a place where one of her tears fell.

But Shahrayar knew nothing of the massacre of his people, for he was kept imprisoned so deep within the bowels of the earth that he was completely in the dark and alone. Another man’s will might have broken in such a place, but not the will of Shahrayar. Day and night, though he could no longer tell which was which, his will burned with its own light: the desire to win back his people and his throne. But even though he dared to dream of these things, he did not know how to dream of Shahrazad. And so, though his will burned bright, his heart still remained in the dark.

The days following the great massacre in the courtyard were the darkest days that land ever saw. On these days, or so it was said in later years, it seemed to many that the sun did not rise at all.

Then slowly a change began to occur so gradually as to be almost unnoticeable though it is surely there, like the flush that moves across the land when spring begins to come. More and more, ‘Ajib went out into the city. Dressed in the clothing he had worn while working in the kitchens, no one paid him any mind. Sometimes he spoke, but mostly, he listened. And so he began to learn that in spite of all the evil being perpetrated upon them, the people were beginning to take heart once more.

Food was beginning to trickle back into the city. For such was the cleverness of the vizier and Shazaman: They had taken a great gamble, and they had won. Though their actions had first helped deprive the people of hope, they had also made it possible for the usurper to reveal the kind of king he truly was. Now that he had done so, there was room for hope to return with the help of Nur al-Din Hasan and Shaaaman.

‘Ajib’s brothers might have believed the people had ceased to riot because they had been cowed. But Ajib knew that in this, his brothers were wrong. The people’s bellies were beginning to be filled again with food supplied by Shazaman. But he claimed no credit for himself. Instead, every good deed accomplished by his will was done in the name of Shahrayar. With every mouthful of food they ate, the people’s love for Shahrayar was rekindled, and they felt a longing for him to rule once more with Shahrazad at his side. For the way the kingdom had begun to prosper when she wed Shahrayar was a thing each bite of food brought to mind.

When ‘Ajib realized what was happening, a horrible battle began to rage within his heart. Should he not tell his brothers what he knew? Surely they had first claim upon his loyalty, for they were his kinsmen, were they not?

But as he stared down at the palace courtyard, stained now and for all time with blood, ‘Ajib felt his heart break apart and scatter like food for carrion birds. How could he tell his brothers what he knew when to do so would provoke the shedding of yet more blood? And there came into his mind thoughts which, once planted, could not be rooted out: His brother was no true king. In helping to place him upon the throne, ‘Ajib had done a great wrong.

In that hour ‘Ajib longed for Nur al-Din Hasan, for the vizier had always treated him kindly—not like a servant, but like a son. But he was far away in Samarkand with Shazaman. Kept away by the very acts that now brought ‘Ajib such despair.

Finally, worn out and confused, ‘Ajib made his way to his second brother’s quarters. For he was the only one of his brothers in whom ‘Ajib thought he might confide. But when he arrived there, he learned a bitter thing: His brothers were in conference without him.

And they plotted the death of Shahrayar.

“We must delay no longer,” the third brother said. “Every day we allow this Shahrayar to live, he is a danger to us.”

“We should have killed him at once,” the eldest, now king, concurred. “I would have done it had ‘Ajib not stopped me.”

“Where is ‘Ajib?” the fourth asked. “Why is he not here?”

“You know why he is not here,” the second spoke up finally, and the sound of his voice was like an arrow in ‘Ajib’s heart. “He protected Shahrayar. We can trust him no longer.”

And in this way did ‘Ajib learn that his struggles over whether to betray his brothers had been for nothing. For they had betrayed him with no struggle at all. He stayed long enough to overhear the plans they made, the likes of which made his blood run cold. Then swiftly he returned to his quarters and wrapped Maju’s trunk up in a cloak. For he had taken it and kept it safe, his brothers not recognizing it for what it was.

Then he took his swiftest horse from the stables, lashed the trunk behind him, and set out with all speed for Samarkand, spurring his horse on with need and hope.

But what, you wonder, in the Days Without Light, came to pass in the hearts of Shahrayar and Shahrazad? For they had parted in bitterness, in fear and in sorrow, their hearts still hidden each from the other. Yet the time was coming when all would depend on what their hearts might decide. Or, had perhaps decided already, but had not yet recognized.

The day after ‘Ajib had left the city, great trumpets sounded, the palace gates opened, and the new king’s herald went forth. Throughout the city he passed crying the king’s will, and it was this: The lady Shahrazad was to undergo a trial. She was a sorceress, and so must lose her life. But if she could perform one good deed before her death, she might save the life of her husband, Shahrayar. In three days’ time, the trial would take place. Once the sorceress no longer lived among them, peace and prosperity would flow into the land once more.

All through that day, and in the days that followed, the herald pronounced the king’s will throughout the city, returning to the palace only at the sinking of the sun.

The day before the trial was to take place, the second brother’s curiosity got the better of him, and he made the climb to Shahrazad’s tower. How had she taken the news that this time she must surely die?

“I would make peace with God, if I were you. Lady,” he advised. “For it cannot be that you will live through tomorrow.”

Though she had shed many tears over the fate of her husband, his people, and his kingdom, Shahrazad let no tears fall now. For the others, her tears were all spent. And she had promised herself before she wed Shahrayar that regardless of the outcome, never would she weep for herself.

“What I have to say to God is for His ears alone,” Shahrazad replied. “I would look to your own soul, if I were you. It is your deeds that are black, not mine.”

At this, the second brother became angry that he could not shake her composure, and he went back down.

Shahrazad did not sleep that night. Sometimes she paced back and forth upon her balcony so that she might feel the wind upon her face. Other times she sat by her brazier, still as stone. And in those hours, the darkest that had come to her since Maju died, Shahrazad waged her own battle: the one to see and understand her heart. For she did not want to leave the world without knowing herself. Did not want to perish knowing that she had been a coward while she lived. How could she face death unafraid if while she still breathed, she had feared to face herself?