“Oh, come now, that is nonsense,” said Shahrayar. He moved to where the sisters clung together. “Your sister loves you well, Dinarzad. I am sorry if you feared for her safety. But I would never let any harm befall her. This you must know.”
At these words, Dinarzad gave a wild laugh. She twisted in her sister’s arms until she faced Shahrayar.
“No, I don’t know that!” she cried, “How can I, when every day you hold the threat of death against her throat like a bright-edged sword? You can end her life whenever you wish. It is being married to you that puts her in harm’s way,”
“Dinarzad!” Shahrazad exclaimed, appalled.
At the shock and dismay she heard in her sister’s voice, Dinarzad lost herself completely and spoke things that she should have kept locked close in her heart.
“I did what you asked of me, I did everything you asked,” she sobbed, “I begged you not to do this, but you would not listen. Not to me, and not to Papa. Now you love the king better, and it is not fair! I wish I had never asked for a story at all. I helped you, and you betrayed me. It would have been better if you had died!”
At Dinarzad’s words, a terrible silence fell. In it, all eyes turned to King Shahrayar. Though she could see none of this, Shahrazad understood at once, for she felt a hand as cold as ice close around her heart.
Now it comes, she thought. He will look at me and see only deception, as I feared so long ago. I have tried, but I have failed. Now, we will both lose all.
“What does your sister mean?” the king asked. “Explain her words to me, Shahrazad.”
At the coldness in his voice, Dinarzad’s tears froze upon her cheeks, and she realized the harm that she had caused. She made a strangled sound.
“Silence!” said Shahrayar. “I will hear from none save Shahrazad. Answer me. What have you done?”
And Shahrazad pulled in a breath and answered calmly. “That which I thought I must. No less. No more.”
“That is no answer, and you know it!” exploded Shahrayar. “Always you speak in riddles. But you will answer me truly right this instant, or I swear before these others that I will slay you here and now.”
In the silence that fell across the room, the only sound that could be heard were Dinarzad’s heartbroken sobs.
“You do not speak, Shahrazad,” Shahrayar said. “Can it be that you have nothing to tell me? Very well. Since you have no tale for me, I will tell you one:
“Once upon a time, a woman wed a king, though she knew that in so doing, she must die. But then she did a most clever thing: To save her life, she began to tell him a story that went on and on. In this she had the help of her sister. And also, I think, her father, for the family was always a close one.
“But now we come to the tale’s great mystery,” Shahrayar continued, his voice like the crack of a whip. “How long might such a tale have lasted, Shahrazad? Long enough for the woman to plot against her husband? To betray him and find another to sit upon his throne?”
“No,” Shahrazad said. “No, Shahrayar.” At her words, a single tear welled up from the split in her breaking heart. In silence, it rolled down her cheek.
“Do not think to move me with tears,” said Shahrayar. “I am not so weak. Tears are the weapons of the desperate, I had thought better of you, Shahrazad.”
“Think of me what you will,” she said, “Indeed, I cannot stop you.”
“Do you deny that you have done these things?” Shahrayar cried. “Did you not plan to so captivate me with your stories that I would long to spare your life?”
“I did,” said Shahrazad.
And these two words brought Shahrayar such anguish he feared he would never recover from it. He would live with this pain all the days of his life.
“I will ask you this once, and then never again: Why, Shahrazad?”
At this, a second tear flowed down her cheek.
“Because I could see no other way. I needed time.”
“Time for what?”
“To help you know your heart again,” Shahrazad said. “And mine. For only then could all be made right.”
Merciful heaven! thought Shahrayar. He could hardly have believed it possible that his pain could increase, but it did so now. How close he had come, that very day, to proclaiming that a thing was growing for her in his heart and that it might be love! And all because of a ruse, a trick. From start to finish, she had deceived him. There was nothing true in her at all.
“You should not dare,” he said. At the sound of his voice, all within hearing felt the hair on the back of their necks stiffen and their limbs twitch as they fought back an instinct to run. “Don’t dare to stand there and say you love me now. I am done playing your game, I see you for the deceiver you are. Take this woman away. I never want to look on her again.”
“Where—” The chamberlain’s voice came out in a squeak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Where would you have us take her, my lord?”
And suddenly the king was weary—weary as he had never been before. For it seemed to him that now he faced the bleakest part of his vision. He was but one word away from spending the rest of his days without even the hope of love. For what hope would there be without Shahrazad?
But before he could proclaim where he would send her—nay, before his mind could even decide—a sound reached the ears of all in the chamber: swords clashing together, and voices crying out in alarm. Shahrayar drew his great curved scimitar, but even as he did so the doors to the chamber were hurled back and ’Ajib’s four older brothers rushed into the room, followed by their most trusted soldiers. For many moments, the fighting was fierce as Shahrayar’s guards sought to protect him. They fought bravely, but the unholy lights of greed and revenge burned in ’Ajib’s brothers’ eyes. They killed the chamberlain where he stood before the king. Then with a great cry of triumph, the eldest brother raised high his sword and struck at Shahrayar.
Shahrayar parried the blow. Their swords met with a great clang, and the shock of the blow nearly shattered Shahrayar’s arm. He faltered back a step, then held his ground.
“See!” the eldest brother taunted. “See how he is hampered by his feelings for the sorceress, for he protects her even now. Truly, her power must be great!”
And in this way did Shahrayar realize that at the first sound of danger, he had leaped to protect Shahrazad. So perfectly did his body obey his heart in this that the action was concluded before his mind could realize what he had done.
“Let us see if she can save you!” the eldest brother said. Once more, he raised his sword. But as he brought it down, a figure suddenly darted forward.
“No!” it cried and thrust its head straight into Shahrayar’s stomach, knocking him down. Instantly Shahrazad flung herself across him, and beside her was Dinarzad.
The eldest brother swore viciously when he saw what had been done. Much as he desired Shahrayar’s death, he was not yet so far gone that he would make war on unarmed women. That would be the act of a coward. So he turned his sword on ’Ajib, the one who had foiled his attempt on the king.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed.
“Leave him alone!” the second brother cried. “If not for him, we never would have come so far.” And so they began to quarrel even in the midst of their triumph. But Shahrayar did not notice this. Instead, he made an anguished sound. The reason ’Ajib’s face had stayed in his mind was suddenly clear. Viewed alongside his brothers, his resemblance to them was plain. Though each was different, they were still as alike as coins struck from the same mold.
“Ah!” Shahrayar said. “I see it now. I have harbored a snake.”
“Truly,” the second brother agreed with a sharp laugh. “A viper. But now that we are victorious, he need hide no longer.”
He signaled the soldiers to move forward.
“Give up your sword,” he said to Shahrayar, “or I will make your wife and her sister suffer for it, though I keep them alive.”
“Shahrayar,�
�� Shahrazad cried in a low voice. Not because she feared for herself, but because she knew what he would do, even though he did not love her. Beside her, Dinarzad began to weep once more, and at the sound, ’Ajib turned his head toward her as if pulled by a cord.
“Dinarzad.”
“Do not speak to me, traitor!” she sobbed. “For a snake speaks always with a forked tongue.”
“I am waiting,” the second brother said.
“So,” said Shahrayar. He got to his feet, and the women fell back. Hilt first, Shahrayar presented his sword. No sooner had he done so than the second brother snatched it up and brought the hilt Shahrayar had presented down upon his head. The king dropped to the floor like a stone. At this, the soldiers seized the two women. Then the second brother knelt before the first and presented him with Shahrayar’s sword.
“The palace is ours,” he said. And then he grinned. “What do you command shall be done with the prisoners, my lord?”
The first brother reached with greedy fingers for Shahrayar’s sword. “Let the former king be imprisoned in the darkest dungeon that may be found. No light. No air. No sound. Though he be alive, let him be put in such a place as will make him long for death.”
“And the women?”
“Let the girl be kept fast in her own rooms. Take the sorceress to the highest tower. Perhaps she will find a way to admire the view.”
So saying, the eldest brother laughed. And all that he had commanded to pass was made so.
Nineteen
IN WHICH ’AJIB LEARNS TO SEE HIS HEART
And now began a time which, forever after, the people of that land called the Days Without Light. For though the sun shone as fiercely as ever, the light that had sprung from the teachings of Shahrayar’s father seemed, with Shahrayar’s imprisonment, to have been completely snuffed out. It was hidden away in a place of great darkness, just as Shahrayar was.
Now fear walked abroad in the land, for the new king’s spies were everywhere, and a man could be deprived of all he held dear for no more than an unclean thought. Yet how a thought could be ascertained when it was never spoken aloud, none could tell. It was a thing known to the king’s spies alone.
Soon friend was divided from friend, and neighbor from neighbor. Mother from daughter, wife from husband, father from son. No one knew who could be trusted anymore, and so they trusted none. And in this way, a great darkness covered all the land, for it came to dwell in every heart. And in this way did Shahrayar’s people come to understand what it was to live beneath a tyrant’s thumb.
Great barricades went up in and around the city. For it seemed to the newly proclaimed king that it could not be long before Shazaman would come with an army to defend his brother and reclaim the throne. But the days passed, the tension increased, and still Shazaman did not come. Gradually the barricades fell into disrepair as the king and his brothers became complacent.
See! How easy it was to rid ourselves of this Shahrayar, they congratulated themselves. We are so strong, none dare oppose us. And so they stopped being vigilant, but the Days Without Light went on.
For now that nothing could contradict their will, the brothers’ true natures were revealed—the new kings most of all. For it was soon seen that he was one who could only put on the outward raiment of a king. He did not possess the heart of one. His people mattered nothing to him. All that mattered was that he sat upon a throne.
Fights broke out within the city as the people daily grew more desperate and hungry. For here, unrecognized by the king and his brothers, the true battle was being waged by Shazaman.
Knowing that it would take time to raise an army to come to Shahrayar’s aid, Shazaman had cut off supplies to the city at once. No caravans had arrived from Samarkand since the day Shahrayar had been deposed. In this, though it grieved his heart to know the people would suffer, Shazaman followed not only his own counsel, but that of Nur al-Din Hasan.
For the fool’s errand Shahrayar had assigned to his vizier had turned out to serve both well. The vizier was not within the palace when it fell. Hearing what had happened, he made for Samarkand at once to join forces with Shazaman. This his mind knew was the proper thing to do, though it cost his heart dearly, for he had to leave his daughters behind.
When he learned of the people’s desperate condition, the new king posted soldiers around the royal granaries and storehouses so they might be secured for his use alone. In this way did the people learn that as long as the king himself ate well, he did not care if they starved. In fury and desperation, they dared to storm the palace itself. Their numbers were so great, they overcame the guards and streamed into the courtyard where once so many had gathered to see Shahrazad’s execution and had learned instead that she would keep her life.
But life was not a thing those who came to the palace learned that day. It was a day to learn of death alone. For the king had his fiercest soldiers cut the people down until the stones of the courtyard ran with blood and were stained red from that day forward. At this, the riots ceased. None came to the palace, and the king and his brothers congratulated themselves yet again.
“See how the people fear and obey me,” the new king cried. “Living under Shahrayar has made them weak and bold at the same time. They thought that they could challenge a king’s authority. But I have proved them wrong!”
All it had taken was a firm hand. There would be no more uprisings.
Out of all the brothers, only ’Ajib had watched events unfold with horror in his heart. From her tower, Shahrazad heard the cries of the people and wept until she could weep no more. And in later years it was said that if one could find a place in that terrible courtyard that was not stained red, it would be a place where one of her tears fell.
But Shahrayar knew nothing of the massacre of his people, for he was kept imprisoned so deep within the bowels of the earth that he was completely in the dark and alone. Another man’s will might have broken in such a place, but not the will of Shahrayar. Day and night, though he could no longer tell which was which, his will burned with its own light: the desire to win back his people and his throne. But even though he dared to dream of these things, he did not know how to dream of Shahrazad. And so, though his will burned bright, his heart still remained in the dark.
The days following the great massacre in the courtyard were the darkest days that land ever saw. On these days, or so it was said in later years, it seemed to many that the sun did not rise at all.
Then slowly a change began to occur so gradually as to be almost unnoticeable though it is surely there, like the flush that moves across the land when spring begins to come. More and more, ’Ajib went out into the city. Dressed in the clothing he had worn while working in the kitchens, no one paid him any mind. Sometimes he spoke, but mostly, he listened. And so he began to learn that in spite of all the evil being perpetrated upon them, the people were beginning to take heart once more.
Food was beginning to trickle back into the city. For such was the cleverness of the vizier and Shazaman: They had taken a great gamble, and they had won. Though their actions had first helped deprive the people of hope, they had also made it possible for the usurper to reveal the kind of king he truly was. Now that he had done so, there was room for hope to return with the help of Nur al-Din Hasan and Shazaman.
’Ajib’s brothers might have believed the people had ceased to riot because they had been cowed. But ’Ajib knew that in this, his brothers were wrong. The people’s bellies were beginning to be filled again with food supplied by Shazaman. But he claimed no credit for himself. Instead, every good deed accomplished by his will was done in the name of Shahrayar. With every mouthful of food they ate, the people’s love for Shahrayar was rekindled, and they felt a longing for him to rule once more with Shahrazad at his side. For the way the kingdom had begun to prosper when she wed Shahrayar was a thing each bite of food brought to mind.
When ’Ajib realized what was happening, a horrible battle began to rage within his heart. Should he not
tell his brothers what he knew? Surely they had first claim upon his loyalty, for they were his kinsmen, were they not?
But as he stared down at the palace courtyard, stained now and for all time with blood, ’Ajib felt his heart break apart and scatter like food for carrion birds. How could he tell his brothers what he knew when to do so would provoke the shedding of yet more blood? And there came into his mind thoughts which, once planted, could not be rooted out: His brother was no true king. In helping to place him upon the throne, ’Ajib had done a great wrong.
In that hour ’Ajib longed for Nur al-Din Hasan, for the vizier had always treated him kindly—not like a servant, but like a son. But he was far away in Samarkand with Shazaman. Kept away by the very acts that now brought ’Ajib such despair.
Finally, worn out and confused, ’Ajib made his way to his second brother’s quarters. For he was the only one of his brothers in whom ’Ajib thought he might confide. But when he arrived there, he learned a bitter thing: His brothers were in conference without him.
And they plotted the death of Shahrayar.
“We must delay no longer,” the third brother said. “Every day we allow this Shahrayar to live, he is a danger to us.”
“We should have killed him at once,” the eldest, now king, concurred.” I would have done it had ’Ajib not stopped me.”
“Where is ’Ajib?” the fourth asked. “Why is he not here?”
“You know why he is not here,” the second spoke up finally, and the sound of his voice was like an arrow in ’Ajib’s heart. “He protected Shahrayar. We can trust him no longer.”
And in this way did ’Ajib learn that his struggles over whether to betray his brothers had been for nothing. For they had betrayed him with no struggle at all. He stayed long enough to overhear the plans they made, the likes of which made his blood run cold. Then swiftly he returned to his quarters and wrapped Maju’s trunk up in a cloak. For he had taken it and kept it safe, his brothers not recognizing it for what it was.
Then he took his swiftest horse from the stables, lashed the trunk behind him, and set out with all speed for Samarkand, spurring his horse on with need and hope.
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