The Storyteller's Daughter

by Cameron Dokey

  “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 queen’s 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.

  Thirteen

  SHAHRAZAD RESUMES HER TALE

  “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 sister’s 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! ‘I 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 ear
s 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.

  “The young man gaped, his mouth wide open, his eyes as big and round as two full moons.

  “‘Of course I did,’ the stone replied. ‘I said, your wish is my command.’

  “‘Wait a minute, what wish? I didn’t make any wish,’ the king sputtered.

  “‘Oh, yes, you did,’ the stone said. ‘I’d hold on tight, if I were you.’

  “With that, the king was lifted high into the air. Up, up, up they went, until the young man was just an astonished speck on the ground below them.

  “‘This can’t be happening!’ the king gasped.

  “‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ the stone answered in exactly the same tone of voice the king had used just a few moments earlier. ‘Of course it can. How many stories have you heard about carpets flying? Carpets! Hah! Have you ever heard of anything so stupid? How anyone ever came up with that idea, I can’t possibly imagine.’

  “‘At least if you were a carpet, I could sit down,’ the king said. For, truth to tell, his arm was starting to get a little tired.

  “‘Oh, well,’ the stone replied, its tone disgustingly cheerful. ‘At least now we’re on our way.’

  “On our way where?’ the king wailed.

  “‘Well how on earth should I know?’ the stone asked, its tone beginning to get a little testy. ‘You were the one who wished to get off the mountain. You wished for it twice, in fact. You never said where you wished to end up. Don’t blame me for your lack of foresight.’

  “‘How can these things be?’ the king asked.

  “‘Oh that is simple enough. I am enchanted.’

  “‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’

  “‘Watch out,’ the stone suddenly advised. ‘Flock of birds ahead. This could get a little tricky.’

  “The king closed his eyes and held on for dear life. Oh, dear, oh dear, he moaned to himself as he heard the flutter of wings around his head. How had such a thing come to pass? He was really just an everyday king with an everyday wish. All he wanted was a son. Was that too much to ask?

  “Squawk!

  “In sudden horror, the king opened his eyes just in time to see the last bird of the flock coming straight for him, its claws outstretched. Another moment, and it would peck his eyes out for sure. With a great cry, the king let go of the stone and covered his face with his hands.

  “‘I really don’t think you should have done that,’ he heard the stone say. But by then it was too late. As swiftly as he had risen, the king began to fall, and it seemed to him that the earth rose up to meet him at an alarming rate. Try as he might, the king could see no other outcome but that his life must end.

  “‘Alas, alas!’ he cried aloud. ‘I wish I had not died before I had the chance—’”

  But here, as before, Shahrazad’s voice was stilled by the crowing of the first cock of the morning. And so her tale ended, still unfinished after a second night. And Shahrayar discovered he was glad that this was so.

  “Surely this king must be the most foolish man alive,” he commented. “For he is so busy wishing for something that he cannot see when it is right in front of him.”

  “Fortunate for him, then,” Shahrazad said, “that he lives only in a story.”

  At these words Shahrayar snorted. He took the cloth from Shahrazad and tucked it safely back inside the trunk. As he did so, Dinarzad yawned, stretched, and sat up. When she realized that it was day, she drew in a swift breath and glanced fearfully up at Shahrazad.

  “Do not fear,” Shahrayar spoke up. “Your sister’s story is not yet ended.” Dinarzad gave a sigh. “You should return to your father’s quarters and sleep in your own bed, little one,” the king went on.” For I fear that you are very tired, and your sister is also.”

  So the sisters embraced. But when Dinarzad moved toward the door, she stopped short and gave a cry. At this, the chamberlain burst in through the door, then promptly tripped over a figure sprawled just inside. For many moments, all was pandemonium. When at last order was restored, Dinarzad knelt on the floor, her arms wrapped around a serving lad not much older than she was while the chamberlain stood above them, his expression fierce and his sword drawn.

  “Move aside, young mistress,” he commanded.

  “I will not!” cried Dinarzad. “Can you not see he is just a boy?”

  “No matter,” the chamberlain answered. “He is where he should not be, and must suffer the consequences.”

  “Enough!” cried Shahrayar. He moved to stand beside Dinarzad and the boy. “We will not make war on children, ch
amberlain. Put up your sword.”

  “But … Your Majesty … ,” the chamberlain sputtered.

  “Do as I say!” roared Shahrayar.

  The chamberlain sheathed his sword. At this, Dinarzad scrambled to her feet, pulling the serving boy along with her, and sought shelter for them both in her sister’s arms.

  “Now then,” said Shahrayar. “Let us see if we cannot get to the bottom of this great confusion.” He knelt down so that he and the boy were face to face, a thing that made the chamberlain take a step forward in alarm. “Suppose you tell us who you are and what you are doing here, my boy.”

  Serving lad and king regarded one another for a moment. So close, the young boy thought. So close, yet there was nothing to be done. No way to exact the revenge for which he and his brothers longed. He had no weapon of any kind, not even a pin to poke this King Shahrayar in one inquiring eye. He had only an empty cup.

  And my wits, he thought. If ever he had need to use them well, now was surely the time.

  “I did but bring the water as I was commanded, my lord,” he said, and he held out his empty cup.

  “Ah, the water!” Shahrayar exclaimed, as he stood up. “I remember now. I did call for water. But surely that was last night. How do you come to still be here this morning?”

  At this, the boy began to squirm as if confused, though, in fact, his thoughts were racing and he squirmed to buy himself some extra time. A thought had suddenly blossomed in his brain. Perhaps he had a weapon after all.

  “If you please,” he said, his tone obsequious. “I meant no harm. I only wanted to hear the story, to hear for myself if what they say is true or no.”

  “What do they say?” asked Shahrazad, speaking to him for the first time. He could feel her voice vibrate against his body, and realized he still stood protected by the circle of her arms. At this, he gave a little wriggle and she released him. He snuck a quick glance at her face as he answered, “Why, that there must be magic in it, of course.”