by James Ponti
Seso laughed and put his hand on Amar’s shoulder. “My friend, has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”
They looked at each other for a moment and began to laugh heartily. They had been on many adventures together and knew that there was a good chance this would be their last.
After one final look, Seso ran up the ramp that led to the High Temple. He moved through the halls with stealth and speed until he reached the door outside the sanctuary.
He checked his bandolier. He had only two knives remaining. Taking a deep breath, he burst into the chamber.
There was no sign of the Hassansin. But the Dagger sat atop an ornate pedestal in the middle of the sanctuary.
He stepped toward the pedestal and suddenly heard the quiet flutter of the Hassansin’s deadly spikes flying through the air.
With deft skill, Seso used his tri-blade like a fan to knock the spikes out of the air.
The killer stepped out into the middle of the room, sunlight shimmering off of his deadly spikes.
There were a few columns that offered Seso some protection, but there was no cover near the pedestal. Seso had no choice. He sprinted toward the Dagger, dodging the first flurry of spikes.
Seso flung his final tri-blade—striking true. The Hassansin was defeated. But Seso was injured as well. He could not rejoin the others. So, he did what he could.
He dragged himself up the steps of the sanctuary and retrieved the Dagger. Then, with all of his strength he hurled it through the open window.
It flew through the late afternoon sky and seemed to fall forever until it struck a tree. As always, Seso’s throw was right on target.
Standing by the tree, Amar looked up in proud amazement at the Dagger. He pulled the weapon from the trunk and handed it to Dastan.
“Have I told you about the Ngbaka?” he said quietly.
Dastan nodded. “You have.”
Sheikh Amar gave a proud smile.
They weren’t in the clear yet. This was only the first part of the plan. Now that he had the Dagger, Dastan need to show it to Tus and convince him Nizam was behind everything.
“I hope your brother listens to you, Persian. It will mean both of our necks if he doesn’t.”
Dastan nodded. He did, too.
Tamina helped sneak him through the palace that had always been her home. Tus was not there when they arrived at his living quarters. So Tamina hid out on the balcony while Dastan waited for his brother’s return.
* * *
“Hello brother,” Dastan said as Tus entered his royal chamber.
“Dastan,” Tus said, surprised.
The king’s bodyguards moved to seize Dastan.
“We need to talk,” Dastan told him.
“Then talk.”
Dastan looked deep into his eyes. “Alone.”
Tus fingered his prayer beads for a moment and then turned to his bodyguards. “Wait outside the chamber.”
The new king eyed his brother warily and motioned for him to speak.
“Alamut was never supplying weapons to our enemies,” Dastan told him. “It was all a lie fabricated by our uncle Nizam.”
Tus shook his head. “Nizam? You’re mad. What could he gain from such a thing?”
“Beneath the streets of this city is an ancient force,” Dastan explained. “A container holding the fabled Sands of Time. Nizam wants to use it to corrupt history—turn back time to make himself king.”
“Heresies, Dastan,” Tus said.
“I’ve seen its power with my own eyes,” Dastan implored, gripping the Dagger in his hand. “Nizam’s discovered its resting place. If we don’t stop him, our world could end.”
“If you’re going to kill me,” Tus said. “Best do it now.”
Dastan shook his head. “This is no ordinary Dagger,” he said. “Press the jewel on its hilt and you will see.”
Dastan looked down at the glass handle. There were only a few grains of sand left. He didn’t know if it would be enough.
“I should have had the strength to do this before,” he went on. “Before we invaded this city.”
“What are you talking about?” Tus asked.
He gripped the knife and remembered what his father had told him about great men doing what was right, despite what might happen to them.
“‘No matter the consequences,’” he said, quoting his father as he plunged the Dagger into his own heart. He collapsed to his knees, coughing blood as he looked up at his stunned brother.
On the balcony, Princess Tamina stifled a scream.
Nizam rushed into the room, surprised by the scene before him.
“He took his own life,” Tus said, bewildered.
“Then God have mercy on the traitor,” Nizam said, “for he chose the path of the coward.”
Tus looked at his uncle and considered what Dastan had said. He looked down at him and at the Dagger, its jeweled handle sparkling.
“We both know Dastan was many things,” Tus said defiantly. “But he was not a coward.”
Tus picked up the Dagger. Before Nizam could stop him, he pressed the jewel. Suddenly the world around him froze and began to go backward. Tus watched it all unfold in stunned amazement as Nizam backed out of the room and Dastan’s body came back to life.
The final grain of sand fell out right at the moment before Dastan plunged the Dagger into his chest.
“No matter the consequences,” Dastan said.
Again he went to plunge the Dagger into his chest, but this time Tus reached over and grabbed his arm, stopping him.
“A moment ago, you died before my eyes,” Tus stammered.
Dastan looked down and saw that the handle was empty. They shared a smile of relief and amazement.
“On the day we left for war,” Tus told him, “our father told me a true king considers the advice of counsel, but always listens to his heart.” He shook his head in disappointment. “I should not have needed such proof from you, my brother. I’m in your debt for reminding me what courage is.”
Dastan smiled and reached to embrace Tus. But as before, Nizam burst into the room. He eyed the two warily. “I see Dastan has indeed returned,” he said.
Then he looked down and saw the Dagger in Dastan’s hands and the fury in Tus’s eyes. Without hesitation or warning, Nizam drew his sword and slashed at Tus’s body. Dastan screamed as the Dagger slipped out of Tus’s hands and slid across the floor.
Dastan dived to get it, but it was picked up by a Hassansin who had followed Nizam into the room.
“Poor Tus, so eager for the crown,” Nizam sneered as he took the Dagger from the Hassansin. “And you, Dastan, always charging in, so desperate to prove you’re more than something the king scraped off the street. What a glorious mess we are.”
“Seems the bond between brothers is no longer the sword that defends our empire,” Dastan shot back.
Nizam ignored the young prince. Taking the Dagger, he left the room. The Hassansin stayed behind, ready to kill Dastan.
But Nizam did not know that Tamina was right outside. She stepped into the room just as the Hassansin made a move toward Dastan. “NO!” she screamed, throwing the killer off balance and giving Dastan time to act. Dastan grabbed the Hassansin and made a weapon out of the only thing within his reach—Prince Tus’s prayer beads.
Nizam would pay for this . . . of that Dastan was certain.
Chapter Fifteen
Having escaped the Hassansin, Tamina and Dastan raced to stop Nizam.
“The guardians built passageways underneath the city for secret access to the Sandglass,” she told him as she led him down a darkened stairway. She stopped when she reached a carving in the wall. Reaching behind it, she pressed some sort of latch that opened a hidden doorway.
Dastan’s eyes opened wide.
“If we move fast enough,” she told him, “we can get there before Nizam.”
Tamina continued to lead him through a passageway barely large enough for them to fit through. It was dar
k, and Dastan could only see a few inches in front of his face.
Suddenly, an earthquake trembled through Alamut.
“The digging is undermining the city,” he observed.
Tamina shook her head.
“It’s the gods,” she replied. “Nizam must have breached the Chamber of the Sandglass. He’s almost there.”
They continued on. The darkness gave way as they entered a giant chamber with a floor made entirely of golden sand. The sand was perfectly smooth, and in the middle of the room was a golden cupola.
“That will lead us down to the Sandglass chamber,” she told him.
Suddenly the ground beneath them shifted, and the floor appeared to drop away. Before he knew it, Dastan was sliding down with the sand, riding it like an ocean wave.
Tamina was able to leap to the golden cupola. But when she turned to reach for Dastan, it was too late. “Dastan!” she screamed as he disappeared from view.
The sand poured down deeper and deeper beneath the city, until finally Dastan was able to grab hold of an arch that protruded from a ledge. Using all his strength, he pulled himself up and into another underground passage.
For a moment he tried to catch his breath and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. When they did, he looked out over a place the likes of which he had never seen. It was an ancient hidden city. A pit sat in the middle of step pyramids set against the walls.
As he went to make a move he saw something terrifying on the stair before him . . . a pit viper. It lunged at him. With lightning speed, Dastan managed to catch it with the blade of his sword.
His eyes urgently scanned the room for the source of the viper. For a moment, he saw nothing. But then he sensed something behind him and spun around just as the Hassansin leaped down.
The Hassansin wielded two fang-shaped blades in a flurry of speed and steel. Dastan fended them off with his sword. The blades clashed back and forth as they moved across the step pyramids. Any wrong move would send them plummeting into the abyss.
The Hassansin was able to pin Dastan against the steps. Dastan had to drop his sword in order to grab on to the Hassansin’s blade and keep it from piercing his throat.
As they struggled, Dastan looked into the killer’s cold, dead eyes. They were terrifying.
Then he noticed something even more terrifying . . . a pit viper started to crawl out of the Hassansin’s sleeve.
Dastan could do nothing to stop it.
The viper let out a cold evil hiss as its tongue flicked the air. It lunged at Dastan, and the prince closed his eyes, bracing for it to strike.
But it didn’t.
When Dastan looked to see what had happened, he saw that the viper had stopped in midair, inches from his throat.
Turning, Dastan saw Tamina gripping the viper with all her strength. She screamed and shoved the snake’s gaping fangs right into the Hassansin’s face.
The killer recoiled and stepped back, falling into the abyss.
“Tamina,” Dastan said breathlessly, still unable to believe what had just happened.
She didn’t say anything. She just grabbed him and pulled him into a deep kiss. But, when the embrace ended, Tamina’s knees buckled and Dastan had to catch her to keep her from falling.
Dastan didn’t know what was happening. Then he saw two puncture wounds on her wrist.
“The viper!” he gasped.
Tamina nodded. In saving Dastan, she had been bitten. He wanted to try to get her help, but there was no time. She was weakening.
“If the Hassansin was here . . .” she said in a whisper.
Dastan nodded. “So is Nizam.”
She pointed down a corridor toward a bright light.
It was a glow with which he was now familiar. It was the glow of the Sands of Time.
Chapter Sixteen
Carrying Tamina, Dastan followed the corridor until it led him to the massive sandglass chamber.
The Sandglass of the Gods was magnificent. It was colossal and towered above the vaulted room. Its white sand cast an eerie light that danced through the air. As Dastan looked at it, he could see reflections of time shimmering in the glass—brief images from his life.
And then he saw Nizam, equally mesmerized and totally unaware that Dastan was there. Dastan watched him. On the verge of completing his dark mission, his uncle’s face was nearly manical. Just as Nizam held up the Dagger to plunge it into the glass, Dastan stepped out from the shadows with his sword drawn.
“You murdered your own family,” Dastan spat out at him.
From the shadows, Tamina looked on. The purity of her spirit was fighting the dark poison of the viper, giving her strength. Her heart ached for Dastan and was filled with horror at Nizam’s madness.
Nizam smiled. “At first I thought it would be difficult,” he said with a sneer. “But in the end, it wasn’t. Just like any war.”
“Sharaman was your brother!” Dastan yelled.
“And my curse,” his uncle replied. “Do you know what it’s like? No matter what lands you conquer, what glory you bring the empire, when you walk into a room all eyes are on the man next to you. And you know, if only on that day so long ago you had simply let him die, it would have been you!”
Dastan screamed and swung his sword at his uncle, who used the Dagger to fend it off. After a couple of swings, Dastan managed to knock the Dagger free. Then he raised his sword to kill Nizam. “I looked up to you,” the prince said with disgust.
Dastan hesitated for just a moment. But it was a moment too long. Nizam pulled out a blade hidden in his cloak and slashed the prince across the stomach.
Dastan collapsed to the floor.
“I never understood why my brother brought trash into his palace,” he scoffed. “Enjoy the gutter, Dastan. It’s where you’ll stay under my reign.”
Nizam grabbed the Dagger and plunged it into the Sandglass of the Gods. He pressed the jewel and an endless supply of sand started to pour through the glass handle. Suddenly the world around them began to bend as time went into reverse.
The glass started to crack and seemed certain to shatter.
“Nizam!” screamed Dastan. “Don’t use the Dagger to go into your past. It’ll unleash—”
“Unleash what?” Nizam replied. “God’s wrath? Hell itself? So what? Better to rule in hell than to grovel upon the face of this cursed earth.”
Nizam pushed the Dagger deeper into the glass.
Dastan summoned what little strength he had left, got back onto his feet, trying to wrestle the Dagger away from Nizam. The Sandglass cracked even more.
As they fought, images of the past flashed by. They saw Nizam turning the three princes against each another. Plotting with the Hassansins. Time continued going backward, with images of Sharaman screaming in agony as he put on the poisoned robe.
Nizam flashed a devilish smile at this moment, and the anger Dastan felt gave him added strength. He began to pull even harder. Finally, his strength and goodness won out over Nizam. He was able to pull the Dagger from his hand and out of the Sandglass of the Gods.
When he did, time stopped reversing and the crack began to heal. But the damage was done. The sand that had been released continued to flow, creating a tidal wave. Within moments, Dastan and Nizam were sucked into it and dragged away . . .
Epilogue
When the sandstorm cleared, Dastan was no longer beneath the city of Alamut—he was alone on its streets. Nizam was gone. Or at least the Nizam that would remember the events in the chamber was gone.
The sands had stopped flowing, but Dastan had still gone back in time—to the raid on Alamut. He had just fought the warrior Asoka and discovered the Dagger.
Dastan thought back to the hardships and adventures which he had just endured. He had seen the worst of the evil that lived inside men. In Princess Tamina he had seen beauty, strength, and love that he had never imagined. He had come face-to-face with death and survived. And now, those moments had been wiped clear from history.
&nbs
p; No one knew that they had happened.
Except Dastan. Despite the difficulty of facing them, these events had not weakened him. They had made him stronger. He was ready to face the future, not as a good man, but as a great one.
He was eager to meet Tamina once again.
He was eager to prove Nizam a traitor and hug his brothers and father.
He was, once again, a prince of Persia.
The sword was strong.
Race back in time to see how Dastan went from urchin to prince in:
THE CHRONICLE OF YOUNG DASTAN
By Catherine Hapka
Based on characters created for the motion picture
Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time
Screenplay written by Doug Miro & Carlo Bernard
From a screen story by Jordan Mechner and Boaz Yakin
Executive Producers Mike Stenson, Chad Oman, John August,
Jordan Mechner, Patrick McCormick, Eric McLeod
Produced by Jerry Bruckheimer
Directed by Mike Newell
Some might claim that the king’s palace was the heart of Nasaf. But to Dastan and the outcasts he surrounded himself with, a very different place was the center of their world. That place was the vast, stinking, fly-ridden garbage heap that lay just beyond the sprawling market area. Dastan and his fellow urchins spent much of their time sifting through this putrid wasteland, the easiest place to find something to eat without relying on charity or theft.
Dastan paused at the edge of a flat rooftop overlooking the trash heap, watching several children squabble over a couple of unripe figs. The eldest couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old, and Dastan idly wondered how many years had passed since he had been their ages. It did not matter. On the street, age was not remembered, or minded. Turning, he scanned the other street dwellers crawling over the refuse.
Most of the faces were familiar. There were few on the streets, young or old, unknown to the sharp-eyed Dastan. But his gaze passed over all of them, finally settling on a slim, wiry boy a few years older than him. The boy’s dark hair stuck up at all angles from his head; he was dressed in rags with a tattered bit of hemp rope serving as a belt. At the moment, he was helping a wide-eyed little boy dig into a mound of rotting fruit.
