“Of course. I should have realized this before,” muttered Kaug to himself in a low voice that was like the rumblings of a volcano to the djinn watching him warily from below. “Pukah is a selfserving little bastard. I’ve always known that. His Immortal Master, the Mighty Akhran, lies bleeding, dying. His earthly master, the impudent Khardan, has crossed the Sun’s Anvil, but he will soon find himself in greater danger from his own people. Could it be that Pukah is really, in truth, attempting to save his own miserable skin? If this wretched worm has truly been driven to crawling on his belly, I may have an amusing time of it!”
“Very well, Little Pukah,” said Kaug aloud, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and crushing three stalwart stone towers in the process, “I will look at this house of yours. You will accompany me, of course, as will Nedjma. “
“Nedjma?” A worried frown passed swiftly over Pukah’s face. Kaug, watching intently, did not miss it and smiled to himself. “But Nedjma is not ready, O Kaug the Impatient, and you know how long it takes women to fuss over themselves, especially when there is one they truly desire to please.”
“Tell her I will take her the way she is,” said Kaug with a laugh that split a minaret in two and sent it crashing to the ground. “Run and fetch her, Little Pukah. I am eager to see my new house!”
Climbing down the fish, Pukah was confronted by a darkly scowling Sond. “It will be all right. Trust me,” Pukah whispered hurriedly.
“I know it will,” Sond said grimly. .. I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not!” Pukah snapped. “It would spoil everything.”
“Yes, I am. You’re not going anywhere with Nedjma! I’ll disguise myself as her—”
Pukah gave him a scathing look. “With those legs?”
The two djinn, still arguing, vanished from sight in the garden and materialized within the palace. Intent on his scheming, upset by this sudden, unexpected demand that Nedjma accompany him, Pukah never noticed that Asrial had come with them until she stood blocking his way when he and Sond tried to enter the seraglio.
“Asrial, my enchanter!” Pukah put his hands on the angel’s arms and endeavored to move her gently out of his path. “At any other time the sight of you would be balm to my sore heart, but right now I have this evil ‘efreet on my hands—”
“I know,” Asrial said firmly. “I’m coming with you.”
“How popular I’ve become lately,” said Pukah, somewhat irritably. “Everyone wants to come with me.” Stealing a sidelong glance at Sond, to make certain he was appreciating this, Pukah heaved a longsuffering sigh. “I know that I am irresistible, my angel, and that you cannot bear to be parted from me for the tiniest second, but—”
Pukah’s tongue stuttered to a halt. It was no longer Asrial he held in his arms, but Nedjma!
“Here, what is this?” growled Sond, lunging forward to separate the two, when suddenly Nedjma—the real Nedjma—was standing by his side.
Her face pale, the djinniyeh laid a trembling hand restrainingly on Asrial. “No. It’s wonderful of you to offer to sacrifice yourself, but I’ll go with”—she gulped slightly, then bravely brought the word out—”Kaug. I know what you did for us in Serinda and I . . . we”—she took hold of Sond’s hand—”we can’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking me,” Asrial interrupted. She did not even glance at the djinniyeh, her eyes looked up into Pukah’s. “I’ve decided this myself.”
“It’s dangerous, my angel,” Pukah said softly. “You don’t know what I must do, and if anything goes wrong, he’ll carry out his threat!”
“I’m not afraid. You’ll take care of me,” Asrial answered, smiling.
“Like I took care of you in Serinda?” Pukah said wistfully, stroking the golden hair. He glanced at Nedjma, who—though she was trying very hard to be brave—was shivering with terror. “Nedjma will be no help at all,” Pukah muttered to his alter ego. “She looks on the verge of passing out as it is. Asrial is courageous, strong. I know—none better—her resourcefulness.”
“But what about—you know?” questioned the other Pukah solemnly.
“I’ll take care of that,” Pukah answered. “Very well,” he said aloud. “You may go, but you must promise me one thing, Asrial—you must promise to do exactly as I tell you, without question.”
Asrial frowned. “Why, what do you mean—”
“Little Pukah!” The ‘efreet’s gigantic eyeball appeared in the window of the harem, sending the djinniyeh fleeing in panic. Nedjma, hurriedly drawing the veil across her face, shrank back into the shadows. Sond leapt forward to hide her from Kaug’s sight. “Hurry up!” Kaug roared, cracking the window glass. His eye rolled and winked lasciviously. “I must take my pleasure quickly, then return to my master.”
Seeing the ‘efreet this near, understanding the terrible portent of his words, Asrial could not forbear a shudder that Pukah felt.
“What are you doing with my woman, Little Pukah?” Kaug growled.
“I am just inspecting her to make certain she is worthy of your attention, O Kaug,” shouted Pukah. In a hurried undertone he hissed, “Swear to me by Mathew’s life that you will obey me!”
Frightened by Pukah’s unwonted seriousness, alarmed at the enormity of the oath she was being asked to take, Asrial stared up at him wordlessly.
“Swear!” Pukah said sternly, shaking her slightly. “Or I will be forced to take Sond disguised as Nedjma, and then none of us will survive!”
“I swear.”
“By Mathew’s life,” Pukah urged. “Say it!”
“Pukah!” Kaug raged.
“Say it!”
“I swear. . . by Mathew’s life. . . to obey you!” The angel’s words fell from pale and trembling lips.
Sighing in relief, Pukah kissed Asrial soundly on the forehead, then clasped her hand in his.
“Sond,” he said in a low voice, turning to the djinn, “when I leave, you and Fedj and that goodfornothing Usti must hurry back to Khardan and Zohra. As Kaug said, they will be in terrible danger! Farewell! Oh, and Sond,” Pukah added anxiously, “you’ll be certain to tell Hazrat Akhran that this was all entirely my idea, won’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“My idea. You won’t forget?”
“No, but I don’t—”
“You will tell him?”
“Yes, if that’s what you want,” said Sond impatiently.
“But why don’t you just tell him yoursel—”
His voice died. The djinn, the angel, and the ‘efreet were gone.
Chapter 4
“I will provide transportation, Bashi—you don’t mind my calling you ‘boss’ do you, Boss?” Pukah asked humbly.
“Not at all,” said Kaug, grinning and leering horribly at Asrial. “You might as well begin getting used to it, Little Pukah.”
“Exactly what I thought myself,” said Pukah, with a graceful salaam, managing—at the same time—to keep his body between Asrial and the ‘efreet. “As I was saying, Bashi, I will provide transportation if you will but reduce yourself to a more suitable size.”
Suddenly suspicious, Kaug glared narrowly at Pukah.
“You will find it difficult to fit into your new bed, Bashi,” remarked Pukah with lowered eyes, a faint flush on his cheeks.
Kaug’s suspicion wasn’t the only part of him being aroused. Pukah’s cunning reference to the bed inflamed him. The ‘efreet had forgotten until seeing her again how beautiful the djinniyeh really was. Vivid memories of his struggles with Nedjma in the garden when he had kidnapped her—the feel of her soft skin, the surpassing loveliness of her body—made his blood tingle, his thick thighs ache with desire.
Still, Kaug was cautious. The hotter the fire in the loins, the colder the ice in the mind. He examined this gem Pukah was handing him with the precise, calculating eye a worshipper of Kharmani uses to examine the jewels of his bride’s dowry.
He could not find a flaw.
A hundred times more power
ful than the scrawny young djinn, Kaug could roll Pukah up into a ball, and toss him out into the eternal void of Sul, to languish forever amid nothingness, and all in less time than it would take the djinn to draw in a lungful of air for his final scream.
“You are right, Little Pukah,” said Kaug, shrinking in size until he was only two heads and a shoulder larger than the djinn. “I would not want to be too big for the . . . ahem . . . bed.” Laughing, he put his arm around Asrial and dragged the angel roughly to his side.
Pukah, smiling wanly, clapped his hands, and the three began their journey.
Behind them, on the immortal plane, the djinn looked at each other in worried puzzlement and then began to reconstruct their battlements.
“Where are we?” demanded Kaug, staring about, glowering darkly.
“On an insignificant mountain in a range unworthy of your notice, Bashi,” answered Pukah humbly.
The three stood at about the midpoint of a mountain whose height was so vast that the clouds played about its knees and it seemed that the sun would have to leap to scale the topmost peak. A hoary frost perpetually covered the craggy head; summer’s heat never reached the summit. Nothing and no one lived on the mountain. The bitter cold froze blood and sucked air from the lungs. The entire world had once been as desolate as this mountain, before Sul blessed it, according to the legend of those who lived in the mountain’s shadow; and, therefore, the mountain was called Sul’s Curse.
Kaug did not know this, nor did he care. He could feel the supposed djinniyeh trembling in his grip, and he was impatient, now that he did not have a war with the djinn to occupy him, to satisfy his lust.
“The doors to your abode, Bashi,” said Pukah, bowing. As the djinn spoke, two massive doors of solid gold, studded with glittering jewels and standing sixty feet high, took shape and form within the mountain’s rock. By Pukah’s command—”Akhran wills it!”—the doors swung slowly inward on silent hinges. Leaving the barren, windswept landscape of the mountainside, Kaug, dragging Asrial with him, entered the golden doors.
The ‘efreet drew in a long breath. His grasp on the angel weakened. Kaug could not help himself. He was overawed.
Golden walls, covered with tapestries of the most delicate design done in every color of the rainbow, soared to such heights that it seemed the ceiling must be lit with stars instead of crystal lamps. Objects rare and lovely from every facet of the Jewel of Sul stood on the silvertiled floor or hung from the gilt walls or adorned tables carved of rare saksaul. And as the ‘efreet traversed this magnificent hallway, his mouth gaping wide in wonder, Pukah threw open door after door, displaying room after room and chamber after chamber, all filled with the most beautifully crafted furniture made of the rarest and most valuable materials.
“Quar himself has no such dwelling as this!” murmured Kaug.
“Bedroom,” said Pukah, opening a door. “Second bedroom, third bedroom, fourth bedroom, and so on for several miles into the heart of the mountain. Then there is the divan for holding audience with those you want to impress” —Pukah threw open double doors—”and the divan for holding audience with those you don’t want to impress”—more doors—”and the divan for holding audience with yourself, if you so desire, and then”—continued opening of doors—”here are your summer chambers and here are your winter chambers and here are your spring chambers and here are your inbetween winter and spring chambers and—”
“Enough!” shouted Kaug, beginning to tire of the seemingly endless display of riches. “I admit, I am truly impressed, Little Pukah”—the djinn bowed again—”and I apologize for thinking you were trying to trick me.”
Pukah’s eyes widened, his face crumpled with pain. “Bashi, how could you?” he cried, stricken.
Kaug waved a hand. “I apologize. And now”—the ‘efreet gave Asrial a vicious tug—”we will retire to one of the bedrooms, if you can tell me where they are?” The ‘efreet stared back down the hall. Every door—and all were closed—looked exactly like every other door.
“Ah, but first,” said Pukah, taking advantage of the ‘efreet’s preoccupation to neatly slide Asrial’s hand out of his grasp. “First the unworthy woman must bathe herself and put on her perfume and her finest clothing and rouge her small feet and darken her eyelids with kohl—”
“I care nothing for that!” the ‘efreet raged, his thwarted passions rising red into his ugly face. Kaug began to grow in height and swell in breadth. “So this was a trick, after all, Little Pukah? It will be your last one!” The towering ‘efreet reached out huge hands toward the djinn.
Ignoring Kaug, Pukah looked straight into Asrial’s terrified eyes. “Run,” he told her. “Run and shut the mountain’s doors behind you.”
Catching hold of the angel Pukah shoved her to one side and then dashed in a direction opposite the doors, down the glittering hallway. The ‘efreet’s grasping hands caught hold of nothing but the breeze left by the djinn’ s flight.
“I won’t leave you!” Asrial cried frantically, though just what she could do if she stayed was open to question.
“Your oath!” Pukah’s triumphant voice came floating back to her. The golden walls picked it up, the words reverberated from the starlit ceiling and bounced off the silvertiled floor.
Your oath! Oath! Oath! By Mathew’s life. . .
Clenching her fists in frustration, Asrial did as Pukah commanded. Turning, she ran the opposite direction from the one the djinn had taken. The ‘efreet made a lunge for her, but the angel had shed the silken pantalons and veil. White wings sprouted from her back. She flew gracefully out of Kaug’s grasp and sped toward the golden doors at the end of the hall.
Seeing his prey escaping him in two different directions, Kaug was momentarily at a loss over which to pursue. The answer, once he thought about it, was simple. He would catch Pukah first, rip that glib tongue from the djinn’s foxish head, tie his feet into knots, and impale him on a hook in the ceiling above the bed. Then, at his leisure, Kaug would retrieve the angel, who, he calculated, would be glad to do anything she could to free her lover.
The ‘efreet set off in pursuit of Pukah, who was running with the speed of a hundred frightened gazelles down the long hallway that led, twisting and spiraling, deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain.
Run! Run and shut the mountain’s doors behind you. Standing on the mountainside, Asrial grasped the huge golden door rings with both hands, and pulled at them with all her might. The doors, set solidly into the rock, refused to budge.
Asrial prayed to Promenthas for strength and slowly, slowly the mighty doors began to revolve on their hinges.
The angel heard Kaug’s shouted threats from inside the mountain; his rage shook the ground on which she stood. She hesitated. . .
By Mathew’s life!
Asrial gave a final tug. The huge doors closed with a dull, hollow boom that pierced the angel’s heart like cold iron.
Inside the mountain Kaug heard the great doors slam shut, but he didn’t give it a thought. . . until, suddenly, everything around him went completely and absolutely pitch dark.
Cold iron.
Asrial, pressing her hands against her heart, understood. “Oh, Pukah, no!” she moaned.
Running back to the doors, the angel beat on them frantically with her fists, but there was no answer. She shouted over and over—in every language she knew—”Akhran wills it!”—the words of command she had heard Pukah use to open them, but there was no response.
“Akhran wills it!” she said a final time, but this was a whisper, almost a prayer.
The angel, watching in helpless anguish, saw the golden doors begin to fade, the light of the gleaming jewels dwindle and darken.
The entrance vanished, and Asrial was left standing alone on the windswept, cold, and barren mountainside.
Chapter 5
Pukah sat, comfortably ensconced, in a tiny cavern—more a crevice than a cavern, actually—in the bowels of the mountain known as Sul’s Curse. Loungi
ng back on several silken cushions, smoking a hubblebubble pipe, the young djinn listened to the soothing sound of the gurgling water—a sound punctuated now and then by fierce shouts and yells from the trapped ‘efreet.
“The one thing I am sorry for, my friend,” said Pukah exultantly to his favorite cohort—himself, “is that we missed seeing the expression on his ugly face when Kaug discovered the mountain was made of iron. That would have been worth all the rubies in the Sultan’s girdle, the one that was stolen by Saad, the notorious follower of Benario. Have I ever told you that story?”
Pukah’s alter ego emitted a tiny sigh at this point, for he had heard the story countless times and knew it as well or better than the teller. He also knew that he was destined to hear this story and many, many others in the days and nights follow—long days and longer nights that would flow into till longer years, interminable decades, and everlasting centuries. But the other Pukah, after that one tiny sigh, responded stoutly and bravely that he had never heard the story of Saad and the Sultan’s RubyStudded Girdle and awaited it eagerly.
“Then I will tell it,” said Pukah, highly gratified. He began relating the harrowing tale and had just come to the part where the thief, to avoid being captured by the Sultan’s guards, swallows one hundred and seventyfour rubies when a particularly ferocious shout from the ‘efreet shook the mountain to the core, interrupting him. The young djinn frowned in irritation and righted the hubblebubble pipe that had been overturned in the resulting tremor.
“How long do you suppose it will be before Kaug finds us?” Pukah asked himself in somewhat worried tones.
“Oh, several centuries I should think,” remarked Pukah confidently.
“That is what I think, too,” Pukah stated, reassured.
A most tremendous roar rattled the crockery and set the wooden bowls to dancing about the floor.
“And by the time he does find us,” Pukah continued, “I am certain that, since I am by far the cleverer of the two of us—the cleverest of all immortals I know, now that I come to think of it—I will have discovered a way out of this iron trap. And then I will be reunited with my angel—my sweetest, most beautiful of angels—and Hazrat Akhran will reward me with the most wonderful of palaces. It will have a thousand rooms. Yes, a thousand rooms.” Leaning back among the cushions, letting smoke curl lazily from his lips, Pukah smiled and closed his eyes. “I think I will begin planning them right now. . . .”
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