The Cinnabar Box (Guardians of the Earth)

by ILIL ARBEL

  Donna sat on the carpet, with Gilbert attaching himself as usual to her hair. Everyone else climbed on. Since no one tied herself to the carpet, Donna did not want to question their mode of traveling, but his was even worse than riding the flying animals. Nothing stood between her and a horrible fall, and she didn’t trust the power that propelled the carpets as much as she trusted Camellia’s and Bartholomew’s natural wings. She had to admit, though, that those carpets were pretty steady, and the pleasant sea breeze didn’t make them wobble. I am getting used to this, she thought wearily, but I am glad Aunt Yolanda told me that witches don’t really ride brooms – I draw the line at flying on a miserable, skinny broom – and she opened her eyes, tightly shut throughout the trip, only as the carpet hit solid ground.

  The entire palace was made of marble, astonishingly white against the strong blue and gold of the landscape. The palace stood partially on the beach, with the main gate opening on it, and partially inside the sea, with broad marble stairs descending directly from the back gate into the water. The water played on the stairs with an endless array of tiny waves and darting lights, and a few mermaids sat on them, waving their silvery tails in the water and throwing food to a herd of squirrel-size seahorses that played around them. Donna noticed that the mermaids had human upper bodies and long flowing hair, but their faces were not human. Rather, they looked very much like a manatee, an animal she particularly liked. One of them held a baby who looked like a living toy. Funny, she thought. All the mythology books said that sailors thought they saw mermaids when they came across manatees. In this reality, they saw both at the same time!

  Attendants rushed over to roll the carpets and take them away, and the women strolled into the palace. The sudden coolness and darkness almost shocked Donna. Air-condition units, she thought, couldn’t possibly be the answer in a place like that, so it had to be magic. Then she noticed the small windows, covered with lattice-work with many climbing plants, thus admitting pleasant, green light. She suddenly remembered reading about various ancient cultures on Earth that had built stone houses that remained completely cool in the most arid, hot regions. It didn’t require magic – only natural resources such as heavy, thick stone walls, strategically placed small windows, and intelligent use of plants and water. In a way, she thought, respecting the environment is magic, too, and Witches are truly the Guardians of the Earth, after all. Someday I’ll teach people how to use plants properly in such buildings and we won’t need to waste so much energy on cooling thin-walled, uncomfortable, expensive houses like the one Mom and I lived in, she thought. Houses and cities full of plants, full of life, friendly to the Earth and the animals.

  The large hall and the drawing room it led to were also made of polished marble, ceiling, walls, floors, all white. However, wine-red carpets, furniture made of dark rosewood, and many bright copper and brass decorations created an atmosphere of supreme opulence. And white flowers everywhere. Translucent porcelain vases full of lilies and roses, brass pots planted with climbing jasmines, and miniature flowering citrus trees and plumerias shone in every corner like little fragrant stars.

  The Vizier’s wife clapped her hands and almost immediately an attendant brought a tray laden with refreshments, then floated away just as quickly. The other women also left and Donna remained alone with her hostess, who leaned back on a divan covered with cushions and motioned Donna to a second one. She picked up a large fan made of peacock feathers.

  “I have not introduced myself. My name is Helena,” she said. “Please have some pomegranate juice, you must be thirsty in this terrible heat. Oh, I’ll never get used to such heat. It’s so different in my country, Iskandar.” She handed Donna a tall crystal glass full of ruby-red liquid. Donna drank. A pleasant, thirst-quenching drink despite the excessive sweetness, she thought. She took a small triangular cake, made of many sheets of dough and drenched in sweet-smelling rose water and honey.

  “This is wonderful,” she said to her hostess.

  “Baklava,” said Helena, “but different. They don’t know how to make it here! I sent for the recipe from my country, after I was released from enchantment, since no one cooks like the chefs of Iskandar.”

  “You were released from enchantment?” asked Donna curiously.

  “Well, yes, both my lady and I were bewitched by the Evil Vizier centuries ago, when he was young and still living in Borderland. I am still humiliated by the memories.”

  “You are a few centuries old? You look so young!” said Donna, astonished.

  “Thank you,” said the lady, pleased. “Yes, I am four-hundred and sixteen years old. That’s not really old, you know. Most of us, human or animal, live very long in this reality –”

  “That settles it,” interrupted Donna jubilantly. “My flying animals are about four thousand years old. So, I am sure they were born here, and the Vizier must have jailed them here. But can you tell me a little about the enchantment?”

  “I would, but I am afraid you will hold it against me …”

  “No, never, I know that the Vizier hurt so many people,” said Donna. She burned with curiosity.

  “He turned us into owls,” said the lady, and hid her face behind her fan. She looked up again, scarlet with embarrassment. “Screeching owls, can you imagine? And just because my lady would not marry him. Who would? Nasty creature that he was even then, and she the daughter of the King of Iskandar … why should she marry that lout?”

  “Then what’s to be embarrassed about? It wasn’t your fault!”

  “But screeching owls! We actually screeched! And some people tell us, whenever we argue with them, that we still screech!”

  “Well, I am sure these people deserve some screeching every so often,” said Donna sympathetically. “Most people do. And who is your lady?”

  “She is my darling cousin Fatima, now the wife of Haroun-al-Rashid. She and I were brought up together like sisters. Haroun and Jaafar had a habit, then, of going amongst the people in disguise. They claim they did it because they wanted to know how their subjects really lived, and truly understand them and relate to them. Well, Fatima and I think they were just looking for fun and adventures, and you may be sure we stopped this ridiculous custom as soon as we married them a long time ago, let’s see – this will be my one hundred and ninety seventh anniversary coming next winter. Anyway, the Evil Vizier turned them into a pair of storks, for some reason they never quite figured out (or just didn’t want to tell us), and they wandered on to the lonely tower where Fatima and I were imprisoned. Since we knew a little magic, we helped them recover the formula and return to their former shape.”

  “If you knew magic, why didn’t you release yourselves?”

  “It’s not so simple. Everyone here knows a little magic, but the Vizier’s magic was much stronger, even then. He really knew his business. However, when you combine certain elements, such as helping someone else in trouble, there are many tricks. Of course, Haroun and Jaafar had to promise to marry us as soon as they became human, and this presented a bit of a problem.”

  “Why wouldn’t they want to marry you? Such a wonderful romantic way to find wives! Wow, just like in the stories, princesses locked in an enchanted tower …”

  “Because we couldn’t tell them who we were, what we really looked like, or anything. You see, this is part of the Code of enchantment in these cases, the release has to be done on faith and rewarded by keeping a difficult promise. And we did look awful, two human-sized owls dressed in white veils and golden jewelry! You can bet Jaafar and Haroun fretted – I really must remember to refer to him as Haroun the Magnificent Blessed Caliph or something – but they had no choice. And once they married us, the owl shape dissipated and they realized they married the daughter of the King of Iskandar and her first cousin. So they were well pleased with the outcome after all.”

  “If Mrs. Caliph is half as nice as you, then both the Caliph and Jaafar are lucky,” said Donna truthfully and took another baklava. “To think that they hesitated
marrying you! How could they be so awful – well, they deserve all the screeching in the world!” Helena laughed. “So you guessed who talks about screeching! Thank you, how kind you are. But unfortunately, not everyone in Borderland feels the same about Fatima and me. Some hate the Caliph anyway. Some love the Caliph but think he should have married a local woman. Most of the enemies who talk about us are spies for the Evil Vizier, of course, and both Haroun and Jaafar are worried. Oh, I think Jaafar is coming.”

  A tall, elegant man in plain blue robes entered the room. He had a black, pointed beard and black eyes, and his one ornament was a large seal ring. Donna liked his pleasant, straightforward smile.

  “Well, well, so this is the little Wicca from Earth,” said Jaafar. “I am very pleased to meet you.”

  “It’s funny,” said Donna. “You appear in those Arabian tales I have read since I was a baby. I know that Haroun-al-Rashid existed in my reality, and had a Vizier by the name of Jaafar. I always thought the stories were written about them. And yet both of you are here in person in Borderland. I just don’t get it.”

  “Just the normal mixing of realities,” said Jaafar and took a glass of pomegranate juice. “Yes, a Caliph by that name once lived in your reality, though a very different person from the one living here. The tales about our Caliph seeped from this reality into yours, and as the names were the same, naturally settled on your Caliph. I am not sure if Jaafar ever existed in your reality. It happens often, you know. Many folktales and mythologies in various realities are the history of some other reality. Of course, I will take you to meet the Caliph and the queen as soon as you are ready.”

  “She must rest, Jaafar. This heat! I will take her to her room and she can meet them for dinner. Look at your pet, Donna. He loves the baklava.”

  “Gilbert is addicted to sweets,” said Donna. She grabbed him before he landed in the middle of the tray, and served him a piece of baklava in a more respectable manner. Jaafar laughed and petted the lemur’s head.

  Chapter 9

  Donna had never seen such a bedroom. Gold and crimson damask covered a four-poster bed, draped with a gauzy white net. Oriental rugs, woven with endless tiny flowers and arabesques covered the white marble floor, and soft cushions were scattered everywhere. Alabaster bowls full of peaches, plums, and persimmons, and vases of tall, crimson roses stood on small tables that were inlaid with precious wood and mother of pearl. I wish I were in my little room at Aunt Yolanda’s new house, she thought sadly, overwhelmed by the cloying luxury of this palace. Depressed and exhausted, she kicked off her shoes, threw herself on the golden bed and fell asleep.

  After about an hour she woke up, feeling more cheerful. To her surprise, she found a green embroidered robe, underwear, and lovely brown leather sandals, all arranged neatly on a low chair. A pot of hot chocolate and a fragile porcelain cup stood on a little table next to it. She poured herself some, grateful for the coolness of the palace that allowed drinking such a hot beverage with comfort, and went exploring for a bathroom. She didn’t want to put on these marvelous clothes without a good shower. The first door she opened, however, led into a garden as large as a football field. Five or six small trees, planted nearby, looked very much like the duck trees she saw at the beach. An old woman, perched on a stool, clipped away some yellow foliage with gardening shears. The woman smiled at her. “Are you interested in plants?”

  “Yes, very much,” said Donna. “I saw a similar tree growing in the sea, and the fruit produced a duck.”

  “These are Baromez trees,” said the woman proudly. “Lady Helena brought them from the land of the Tartars, near her homeland of Iskandar. Absolutely the best Baromez in the world. Superb wool, silky and warm, and it’s much sought after.”

  “Wool?” said Donna. “I always thought wool grows on sheep, not on trees.” She watched the large gourds suspiciously, already having a hunch that the ducks were simple by comparison.

  “So you don’t know the Baromez,” answered the woman, smiling. “Watch. I will touch one of the ripe gourds, and look what happens.”

  The gourd began to shake just like the duck gourd. Suddenly, it burst open, and a brown, tiny lamb jumped out of it. It seemed to be attached to the fruit by a long umbilical cord, and stood there on its tiny legs, shivering and whimpering helplessly.

  “Poor darlings, they can’t free themselves from the tree,” said the woman. “We, the gardeners, must release them.” Gently, she loosened the cord and took out a jar of medicine and a clean bandage from a small burlap sack that hung from her belt. She put the medicine on the lamb, wrapped the bandage around its little stomach, then fished a baby bottle out of the sack.

  “Would you like to feed the Baromez?” she asked, handing Donna the bottle.

  Donna took the tiny soft animal and cradled it in her arms. She put the bottle in its mouth and it sucked happily like any baby enjoying its first good meal.

  “We have a lovely herd,” said the old woman. “They live in a comfortable, large enclosure, and we cut their wool every year and sell it for a fortune.” The Baromez finished the milk with amazing speed, and the bottle fell out of its mouth.

  “Now, Malka, you are wasting our guest’s time,” said a gravelly voice near Donna.

  “No, no, I love it,” said Donna, unable to take her eyes off the tiny Baromez, now fast asleep and snuffling her arm gently with its warm snout.

  “Nevertheless, you must get ready for your audience with the Caliph,” said the person insistently. Donna looked up and saw no one. Confused, she looked around. “I am here, by your feet,” said the voice, obviously amused.

  A toad stood there, as tall as Donna’s knee. She wore a purple velvet dress, and silver bells decorated her feet. The little horns on her head had jewels around them, suggesting earrings. The toad bowed.

  “My lady, I am Roxanne, your attendant while you stay at the palace,” said the toad.

  “Pleased to meet you, Roxanne. Just call me Donna.”

  “Thank you. Would you please step inside? It’s time for your bath.”

  I am either totally immune to surprises now, thought Donna, or I have lost my mind. Well, if a lamb tree, why not a well-dressed toad? She followed Roxanne into the luxurious bathroom.

  “Care for some music while you get ready?” asked the toad courteously. “You know, we toads are famous for our playing and our dancing.” Anyone who loved music couldn’t be all bad, thought Donna. “Sure,” she said, “Do you play an instrument, too? And you have an interesting voice; I bet you sing.”

  “Why, yes, of course, most toads do,” said Roxanne. “We are often hired precisely for this talent.” She produced a small balalaika, beautifully made from inlaid wood and ivory, and plucked the strings expertly to see if the instrument was properly tuned. She adjusted them slightly and burst into a song. Her voice was surprisingly strong for such a small creature, and very appealing, Donna thought.

  Lying in the huge tub filled with scented warm water and rose petals, a glass of lemonade by her side and the toad singing emotionally uplifting Russian-Gypsy ballads, wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps, thought Donna, one can get used to a little luxury, under the right circumstances. Maybe. As long as it doesn’t take place in a country club, of course.

  Donna found the long robe hard to manage, but her shorts and T-shirt were certainly inappropriate for dinner with Haroun-al-Rashid. Anyway, Roxanne washed them nicely and at the moment they were dripping into the elegant marble bathtub in Donna’s bathroom. When she walked into the dining room with Gilbert riding her shoulder, she was glad to be beautifully dressed.

  The room contained a table which could sit a hundred people or so. It seemed to stretch for miles, covered with gold utensils and porcelain plates and decorated with vases of white roses and heavy gold candlesticks. Only a few of the candles were lit, though, and the magnificent room hid itself in half shadow. A small group of people stood at the open window, overlooking the garden. One man detached himself from the group and came t
o meet her, smiling, hand outstretched. A small black cat rode his shoulder.

  Silently, donna shook the hand of the great Caliph, a figure of history and legend, a storybook character from her early childhood. He was a middle-aged man, with a tanned face and black hair and beard, touched with gray. His chocolate-brown, kind eyes smiled at her. “I am Haroun-al-Rashid. Don’t look so awed, my child. I am only a king who lives for his people. The good wizards you have met are so much greater than I am because they are the Guardians of Wisdom.”

  “I am honored to meet you, Your Majesty,” said Donna, finding her voice. This was the sentence Roxanne taught her. The Caliph laughed. “Come, meet my wife,” he said. “You have already met Helena and Jaafar. We will have dinner, just the five of us, and discuss what can be done. I am not sure how to help you, but you know I will do my best.”

  “I hope it is all right that I brought my lemur,” mumbled Donna. “He was afraid to stay alone in my room …”

  “Your lemur is welcome. As you can see, I love animals,” said the Caliph, stroking the little black cat that snuggled comfortably on his broad shoulder. “Anyway, dinner today is a private affair. We have no time to lose.”

  It’s amazing, thought Donna, how all these grown-ups, some of them powerful and even intimidating, had no power against the Vizier. Either they had this annoying Code to attend to, or they had no idea what to do. If she expected miracles from Haroun-al-Rashid, they were not available. The Caliph did not know Aunt Yolanda’s whereabouts, though common gossip about the abducted Senior Witch did reach Fatima’s ears. Nor did any of them know Camellia or Bartholomew personally, though they were aware of these animals going into service with the queen of Great River centuries ago. Fatima knew the queen before Great River became desert, but had not seen her for many years.

  Donna pulled out the crystal and explained the extra magic done to it by Vainamoinen and Taliesin, both well known in Borderland. As soon as dinner was over, they sat around it and gazed together, as Fatima and Helena had experience in crystal gazing since childhood.