Rhidan looked down again at the image on the surface of the table. His gaze became intense. “We have to find the sorcerers of the Black Isle.” His voice sounded rougher and lower than usual. “They can help us. Help us defeat Shahryār.”
There was a humming sound, and the air suddenly felt charged like the sky before a thunderstorm. Zardi bolted out of her chair as everything in the room started to radiate a faint purple light. She spread her fingers and saw purple threads fill the gaps. Her breath lodged in her throat as the strands of light began to peel away from her and all the other surfaces in the room. The light swirled upward and twisted itself into a rope of violet that wrapped around Rhidan, making him iridescent. His skin sparkled. She wanted to ask what was happening, to ask if Rhidan was going to be all right, but her tongue was thick with shock.
Just as quickly as it had materialized, the purple rope fell away from Rhidan and the light disintegrated on the air. Her friend looked completely normal and was staring down at the table, tugging on his amulet the way he always did when he was anxious.
“What in all of Arribitha just happened?” Zardi exclaimed.
Sula put a finger to her lips and pointed at the table.
Zardi followed the medicine woman’s gaze and saw the fortress and the Black Isle fade. A new glowing image began to form. It was a thick golden disc. At its center was an etching of a towering tree. Its roots trailed down and turned into rivulets of water that appeared to swirl across the surface of the metal. The inner ring of the disc was studded with red stones that flickered like firelight, and around the bejeweled circumference elaborately scripted words were engraved. She only recognized one of them: Shamal, the name of the wind that buffeted Taraket every summer.
“What is it?” Zardi asked, squinting down at the object. It looked so real, it was almost as if she could reach out and pick it up.
“It is the Hunter’s Elemental,” Sula replied. “But most call it the Windrose, for it is the four winds that bend most easily to its power, although it has also been known to call on the elements of earth, fire, and water.” The medicine woman gazed at the Windrose, the image of the golden disc reflected in the dark brown of her irises. “Rhidan, you wanted to know whether you had some aptitude for the magical arts. Well, this is a promising start. If you can find the sorcerers of the Black Isle, they will be able to teach you how to wield your magic properly.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” he protested.
Zardi thought back to the amethyst light that had just filled the room and how it had wrapped itself around Rhidan. He had definitely done something, even if he hadn’t realized it.
“Nonsense,” the medicine woman replied. “Now that you know of your heritage, your magical abilities have awoken, even if just for a moment. You requested a way to find the Black Isle and one has been shown to you.”
Rhidan looked pleased with himself, but bewilderment also shaded his expression. He stared at the strange object on the table, and asked, “What does it do?”
“The Windrose can use its powers to guide a person to anyone or anything in the world, even things that are hidden or disguised,” Sula explained softly. “Many have died trying to obtain the Windrose. A djinni known simply as the guardian protects it. He is powerful and undefeated, but you, at least the part of you that just revealed that little bit of magic, want to find it.”
“Where do we find this guardian?” Zardi asked, ignoring the worm of jealousy trying to burrow into her head. So, let me get this right, she could hear the worm saying. Rhidan is now a sorcerer with magical powers, while you’re just … you?
Zardi looked at her friend. He was so excited, so happy—she realized that envy had no place here. Zardi stamped on the worm and, almost hearing it squish, gave a satisfied sigh. She knew she faced a decision. I either try to find the Varish and ask for their help to save Baba and Zubeyda or I get Rhidan to the Black Isle. Even as Zardi voiced the options in her head she knew there was only one choice. The Varish were just men; they might not even exist. But the sorcerers of the Black Isle had magic—magic that could defeat the sultan and save her family. With magic on my side, the sultan won’t stand a chance.
“The guardian’s location is secret,” Zardi heard Sula say. “But all djinnis are linked. Any djinni would be able to tell you where the guardian resides. A djinni powerful enough could even take you there.”
Rhidan looked at Sula hopefully. “You’re half djinni. Can’t you send me to the Windrose?”
Sula gave an almost indistinct shake of her head. “The djinnis are a proud, haughty race. Half is not good enough.” Sula looked thoughtful. “I do know a djinni shackled to a golden lamp who owes me a favor.” The medicine woman smiled to herself. “If there is one thing a djinni hates, it is being in debt to anyone. I will ask for his help, and you will wait for me aboard the Falcon.”
Rhidan opened his mouth to say something, but Sula held up a hand. “If this djinni aids you by taking you to the Windrose’s guardian, it will be at great personal cost to himself. A djinni can only serve one master at a time. If he chooses to grant a wish to someone who is not his master he will have to use some of his own life essence to do so. This is true of all djinnis. They are immortal, but if they lose too much of their life essence they will become the walking dead.”
Zardi’s thoughts were a whirl with everything she had learned, but one thing was absolutely clear: finding the Windrose was the key to saving Baba and Zubeyda. “Are we finished here?” she asked.
“Such impatience, Scheherazade. Have you no interest in learning about your own destiny?” Sula looked at her quizzically. “I dreamed of you both. I am here to set you both on your paths.”
Zardi rested a hand on her hip. “Rhidan’s path is my path. I’m going to get him to the Black Isle.”
The medicine woman shook her head. “Your path is your own, Zardi. No doubt the Windrose has a part to play, but tell me what it is that you want more than anything else.”
“To rid the world of Shahryār.” The words jumped out of Zardi’s mouth, uttered before they were even thought.
“Then let me show you your destiny, lion-born.” The medicine woman once again swept her palm over the silver surface of the table. A cluster of trees, their branches heavy with oranges, came into view. A flash of white appeared, darting through the trunks—a girl, wearing the dress of the praisemaker. Something gold was clasped in her hand. At her heels were hunting jackals and, behind them, a man on a powerful flame-colored steed. The sultan. The fleeing girl tripped and went sprawling into the dirt, the white scarf coming away from her hair. Shahryār dismounted and stalked forward. A shudder racked Zardi’s body as the girl turned toward the hunter and she found herself looking at her own face. A red light flooded over the moving images on the table and they vanished.
“How can this be?” Rhidan’s face was waxen. “Zardi isn’t a praisemaker.”
“This is part of her destiny,” Sula replied. The medicine woman looked at Zardi, her eyes sad. “Your path will take you to this point. There is nothing you can do about it.”
“You are wrong.” Zardi looked away from the table. “I will never let Shahryār catch me. If that’s the future, I’ll change it.” She walked toward the door. “I think it is time you went and found this djinni. The sooner Rhidan and I can find the Windrose, the sooner we can get to the Black Isle and its sorcerers.”
13
The Captain’s Revenge
“Can you see her yet?” Rhidan yelled. Zardi shaded her eyes from the low-hanging sun as she scanned the crowds on the dock. From her vantage point, up the tallest mast of the Falcon, she had a pretty good view of the port. “No. Nothing.”
She looked down and saw Rhidan shake his head and begin pacing the deck. Zardi quickly shimmied down the mast. He really needed to stop looking so jittery or the crew was going to start asking questions. Sinbad hadn’t been pleased when they’d come back to the Falcon, but at least he hadn’t made them stay in his c
abin. “It looks like my friend will take you on as crew on his ship,” Sinbad had told them eagerly. “You’ll be off to Mandar first thing tomorrow morning.” The captain had allowed himself to crack a relieved smile. “Now you two stay on board here and stay out of sight. I’ve got merchants to see.”
Zardi jumped down beside her friend.
“I can’t wait any longer!” Frustration made Rhidan’s voice shrill. “I’m going into town to see if I can spot her. Maybe she needs my help.”
“It is highly unlikely that a half-djinni medicine woman is going to need your help,” Zardi said, keeping her voice low. “But if it makes you feel better I’ll go into town and see if I can spot her. You may be a sorcerer, but your sense of direction stinks.”
Rhidan opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Fine, you go and find her.”
Zardi grinned. “I’ll do one circuit of the docks and then I’ll come back. In the meantime keep your eyes peeled.”
“Didn’t you know?” Rhidan said, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Peeling one’s eyes is a sorcerer’s specialty.”
“Pleased to hear it,” she called, bounding across the landing plank and onto the dock.
As she walked through the crowds, searching for Sula, Zardi was suddenly struck by the ordinariness of the scenes around her: people laughing, talking, and arguing. The world looked the same, but it wasn’t. She thought all magic had been driven from Arribitha, but it was still here. Strangest of all, she and Rhidan were part of it.
Thinking of her friend brought a smile to her lips. She was glad that they could laugh about him being a sorcerer, although she knew the idea hadn’t quite sunk in for either of them—not yet.
During their walk back to the Falcon, Rhidan had confessed that he didn’t know how he made the purple light appear. He normally loved figuring out how things worked, but with his magic he didn’t even know where to start.
Zardi had told him not to worry about it. With the help of a sorcerer from the Black Isle, all their problems would be solved. Rhidan would learn how to use his magic and Zubeyda and Baba would be saved.
But only if we find the Windrose first, Zardi thought. Unbidden, she saw the image of herself among the trees, the sultan’s jackals chasing her down. She wanted to dismiss it, would dismiss it. She and Rhidan would get to the Black Isle and make sure that this version of the future never happened.
Suddenly a hand gripped her shoulder from behind. It was so reminiscent of the time that Rhidan stopped her in that dark alley in Taraket that she turned around with his name on her lips. But it wasn’t Rhidan.
Captain Assam stared down at her. “Zee, what a pleasure to see you.” The words were friendly but his tone was not. “I was hoping to bump into you.”
“Captain!” Zardi exclaimed. Her happiness at seeing him fled as the hand clamped on her shoulder tightened. “I’m so glad you’re safe. Is the Triumph all right?”
“Yes, the Triumph is fine.” The captain’s face was stony. “I’m afraid your little plan to have my boat rammed and leave it to sink didn’t work.”
“What plan?” Zardi tried to pull back from his grasp but she was held fast. “I didn’t mean for anything to happen to your boat.”
“Yet you and Rhidan seemed keen enough to leave my boat and affiliate yourself with a band of pirates.” His eyes were like ice. “You have a lot of explaining to do, and I know the sultan and his guards are eager to hear it.” He let go of her shoulder and grabbed her arm, holding it in an ironlike grip.
Zardi felt herself go cold. “The sultan’s here?”
Assam raised an eyebrow. “Life is full of surprises, Zee—or should I say Zardi? After you and your pirate friends left the Triumph to its fate, another ship came down the river. It was the sultan’s vessel, the Swift.” The captain leaned in, bringing his face right up to hers. “His guards asked me if I’d seen a boy with silver hair, possibly traveling with a girl. I told them about Rhidan but you see I was confused because his companion was a boy not a girl.”
Assam smiled darkly, and Zardi hated to see the meanness on his face.
“Then the sultan himself came out of his cabin and questioned me,” Assam continued. “I told him all I knew. In return, he told me a few things, including your true name and the fact that you and Rhidan are wanted in Taraket for several crimes.”
Zardi began to protest, but the captain talked over her.
“I’ve heard many say that the sultan is a cruel man, but now I see that for the lie that it is. His ship towed the Triumph to Sabra, and I vowed there and then that I’d find you and Rhidan for him.” Assam tightened his hold a bit more. “It helps, of course, that there is a reward for your capture: a thousand dirhams for you and five thousand for Rhidan.” He chuckled unkindly. “Some would say that justice will be served if I turn you in. What would you say… Scheherazade?”
Fear choked her. Shahryār is in Sabra. The words screeched in her mind, louder and sharper than any seagull, while fragmented images of jackals, orange trees, and the billow of a white dress spun behind her eyes. She’d never dreamed that the sultan would come after her. And why is he so determined to capture Rhidan? It doesn’t make sense.
Zardi’s legs trembled, and she concentrated on the muscles in her limbs, willing them to become strong and stable. She wouldn’t give in to her fear. Her mind stilled, and she suddenly remembered that Assam had never seen Sinbad’s ship. If she could just lose him and get back to the Falcon, she’d be safe.
The captain shook her roughly. “I asked you a question.”
She looked calmly at him, knowing that she couldn’t allow herself or Rhidan to get caught. “I’d say I’m sorry that things have turned out this way.” She swung her arm upward, breaking out of the captain’s grip, and then bolted to the left.
“Stop there!” Assam shouted. She could hear the captain’s footsteps behind her but she didn’t dare look round. Instead she ducked under a nearby archway and raced down the busy street, past the rug weavers, fabric sellers, tailors, and women selling hummingbirds in brass cages, past the camels burdened with provisions to carry across the desert and the men with quills and scrolls listing the flow of goods into Sabra.
Knowing she couldn’t head for the Falcon straightaway, Zardi veered sharply to her right, throwing herself into the heart of a complex maze of back alleys. The streets were much quieter here, and the sound of her breathing filled the silence. She turned down another road only to find that it ended with a high wall blocking the way. She ran at the partition and with her gained momentum leaped upward, her fingers finding the top of the wall. Pulling herself up, she balanced on the stony ledge. Only now did she dare to look over her shoulder.
Assam had just turned into the street. His round face was red and he was wheezing for breath. He spotted her on the wall and came to an abrupt stop, looking angry and defeated. They both knew that he could not climb the wall. Zardi felt a sharp pang of guilt for making a man of the captain’s age and girth chase her and lose. “I’m sorry, Captain,” she called and then leaped down, landing deftly on the other side of the wall.
Zardi stood up from her crouched position. She was in the corner of the spice bazaar and, ducking her head, she weaved in between stalls covered with the gold of turmeric and the pink of dried rosebuds. The hot, sweet smell of cinnamon quills draped the air of the market, making it hard to breathe. She raced to the Falcon, the conversation with Assam repeating itself in her head like the lapping of water on the shore, her fear of the sultan a crest on every wave.
She pelted onto the landing planks of Sinbad’s ship and as she did so she spotted the captain talking to Musty.
“I thought I told you to stay on board,” Sinbad said as she stepped onto the Falcon’s deck.
“Sorry, Captain.”
Sinbad pulled his eyebrows together in annoyance but continued his conversation with the shipmaster. She paused beside them, trying to work up the courage to tell Sinbad that she’d seen Assam.
“Zee, we need to talk.” Rhidan grabbed her shoulder, dragging her to one side.
Zardi winced. Rhidan was holding the same shoulder that Assam had gripped earlier. It felt bruised, like a piece of meat that had been bashed thin to make tender.
“Did you find her?”
Zardi shook her head and watched as his face drooped with disappointment. She felt a stab of anger. “Don’t you dare look like that, Rhidan,” she said through clenched teeth. “Finding Sula is the least of our worries right now.”
Bewilderment and then guilt scuttled across his face. “What happened?”
She pulled away from Rhidan and rubbed her shoulder. “The sultan is in Sabra,” she said in a low voice before quickly telling him about Assam and how she’d escaped him.
Rhidan frowned. “The sultan’s hunted you all the way to Sabra?”
“Hunted us, Rhidan. He’s prepared to pay five thousand dirhams to have you captured. Five thousand!” She bit the edge of her thumb. “Do you remember, on the night he took Baba, he said that you were not fully hatched yet? Do you think he knows you’re a sorcerer?”
Rhidan’s frown deepened. “Shh, we can’t talk about this now. Someone might be listening. Sinbad would sell us down the river for a fraction of what the sultan offers.”
Zardi looked around, checking that no one had overheard their conversation. She needn’t have worried. Only about half the crew was onboard and none were close by. She froze as she saw Nadeem sprinting toward the ship, his sharp face pinched with fear.
“Captain!” he yelled as he jumped onto the deck. “We’ve got to go. They’re coming.”
Sinbad strode forward. “Who’s coming?”
“The sultan’s guard.”
Rhidan and Zardi shared a look of horror.
“Nadeem, there’s no sultan’s guard in Sabra,” Sinbad dismissed.
“There is now,” the boy replied, still gasping for breath. “I was in the market, selling the red silk to your favorite merchant. He asked how things were on the Falcon, told me he’d seen a strange boy with silver hair on our ship earlier today. Said he was funny-looking and wanted to know where he was from.”
The Book of Wonders Page 9