by Aisha Saeed
“The first person I will kill when I get back home is the king, of course.” Abbas looked off at the horizon thoughtfully. “Second try will have to be a charm. Next I’ll go for the guards, the ones who locked me away. But they must suffer. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I could set them loose in a meadow and hunt them. Now that could be fun.” Abbas laughed. He continued with the list of revenge. It was time, Aladdin realized. It was time to put an end to all of this.
He moved his hands slowly toward the satchel to reach for the lamp buried within. He opened his mouth to whisper Genie’s name. But before he could, he paused. There was a faint sound in the distance. Aladdin glanced at Abbas, but he was too busy rambling about his grand plans to notice. But Aladdin did. There, like a long and winding snake, was a line of people—the bread maker, the sweet vendor, the woman with the goats. Some carried torches while others carried lanterns. Practically the entire town was there. And leading them, at the front of the crowd—her face now visible to him in the distance—was Jasmine.
JASMINE MET ALI’S gaze as soon as she turned the bend. She watched his nervous expression shift from shock and disbelief to relief. She’d been nervous Abbas would see them coming down the pathway, but she needn’t have been concerned; Abbas was so busy going on and on about something, his back turned to the walkway, he didn’t notice Jasmine or the others as they drew closer. Soon she was mere steps away. She stared at his back. She could shove him—throw him off guard. But the man still held the knife close to the boy’s jugular. It wasn’t worth the risk.
“I’m back,” she finally said.
Abbas stopped talking. He turned around with a smile. But his expression soured within seconds once he took in the crowd of people behind her.
“Should’ve figured,” he grumbled.
“Perhaps,” Jasmine said. “Everyone from Ababwa is here. Hurt the boy and there is no happy ending for you. But it doesn’t have to come to that. The boy is all we care about. Let him go and no one needs to get hurt. Not even you.”
“So generous of you.” Abbas sneered. “But I’m afraid your little stunt is going to cost you. I told you I was going to kill this boy if you didn’t bring me proof of the ship and the gold. So now this boy is going to die while you watch. I must say”—he shook his head—“royalty is really not what they say it is anymore. If you can’t trust a royal with their word, who can you trust?”
“Don’t!” Jasmine took a step forward; the crowd moved restlessly behind her. Abbas raised his knife.
“Please!” Jamaal shouted. “Have mercy.”
“Mercy?” He looked down at the boy. “You do know none of this is my fault, don’t you? All I wanted was that blasted magic carpet and a way out of here, but these people, your supposed protectors and friends, couldn’t care less.” He glared at both Ali and Jasmine. “Now they claim to want to save your life. It baffles me, quite frankly why they pretend as if they care. Because you’re a nobody, kid. Sorry to say. Though I’m sure you knew that already. These townspeople here? They only came because a princess ordered them to. No one there cares a lick about you.”
The boy’s lower lip trembled.
“Don’t listen to him,” Jasmine told the boy. “If they didn’t care, they wouldn’t have come.” She turned to Abbas. “People can change their perspectives. They can change their ways. Even you could change if you truly wanted to. Despite all that has happened and all that you have done, it’s still not too late for you. You can still do the right thing, and you can start by letting this boy go.”
“As if I’d listen to you. I make decisions and stick with them. I’m no weak fool.”
“Changing one’s mind doesn’t make one a fool.” Jasmine turned to look at the townspeople, then looked back at Abbas. “If anything, it can be a sign of wisdom and strength.”
“You ask for mercy for this boy, but has anyone shown me any mercy in my life?” Abbas asked. “Everyone has been on my case from the time I was born. I was to walk faster than any other boy, recite the poetry of the greats, and get slapped if I made so much as a small misstep. The only attention I got was from that weak-willed Waleed. That sort of love,” he scoffed, “it doesn’t even count. No. Mercy is not the way of the world. I’ve been wronged my whole life and now I am not going to be wronged ever again….”
Abbas went on, listing all the ways he had been treated unjustly as a child and as a teenager. As Abbas’s narrative approached his early adulthood, Jasmine knew the only thing that stood in the way of Jamaal’s death was Abbas’s love for speechifying. The boy seemed to understand this, too. He looked resigned. As though it were already done.
Jasmine glanced over at Zaria. Their eyes met. Jasmine nodded. It was time. Zaria slid a finger over the cage door and opened it. The bees emerged, hovering for a quick moment before darting out of their cage. They zoomed now, glittering black and gold against the night sky, toward Abbas.
Jasmine glanced at Ali. His eyes followed the movement of the bees. He didn’t move a muscle.
Abbas could have noticed, too, had he paused in his monologue to pay attention to his surroundings. But perhaps because he’d had no captive audience for so long, he could not stop speaking, which gave Zaria and her bees the perfect opportunity.
“And when I get back to the kingdom that was meant to be mine and reclaim my former glory, I will come back for all of you!” he shouted. “You can be my subjects then. I’ll make this pathetic little kingdom that sprouted from nothing into my colony. And I will remember how you all treated me while I was here. How you all stood ready to harm a man who will someday rule you. And that palace of yours, that ridiculous monstrosity, I will burn to the ground. Except this time, I’ll do it on purpose,” he cackled.
The bees were almost there.
Moments away.
And then—they attacked.
“Gahhhh!” Abbas’s smug expression vanished. He screamed at the top of his lungs. In an instant, he dropped his hands and cowered so as to cover his face. The boy fell hard to the ground. The knife Abbas had been holding clattered on a rock by their feet.
“Get off me!” screamed Abbas, batting his hands at the bees and crouching with his face to the ground. Zaria had been correct about them; those bees were not ordinary in any way. They continued to attack him with a vengeance, swarming his face in a glittering blur.
Ali rushed to the fallen child and scooped him and the knife up. The boy clutched the prince and burrowed his head into Ali’s shoulder. Even from where Jasmine stood, she could see how Jamaal’s entire body trembled.
“It’s okay,” Jasmine heard Ali tell the boy. “You’re safe now. You’re safe. I promise.”
“Burn us to the ground, will you?” shouted the butcher.
Zaria snapped her fingers three times, and the bees retreated and slipped noiselessly back into their cage.
“Make us a colony, eh?” said another of the townspeople, advancing upon him.
“I didn’t mean it literally, of course.” Abbas cleared his throat. He slowly sat up. His face was bumpy and puffed from all the beestings there and on his neck and arms and legs. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
He stood unsteadily on his feet and then tried to make a run for it, but before he could so much as take a single step, the butcher and others grabbed Abbas and gripped him firmly beneath the arms. Other villagers came over and grabbed a hold of each leg.
“Unhand me at once!” Abbas shouted. “You can’t contain me. Go on and lock me up. I will just get out again. You’ll see.”
“Ah, perhaps.” A villager grinned. “But won’t it be fun to try?”
Jasmine watched as they carted Abbas off with him kicking and shouting the entire way.
“Where are they taking him?” Jasmine asked Ali as she watched the retreating procession.
“Prison,” Ali said. “A sturdier one in town, where more eyes can make sure he doesn’t escape. Thanks to you.”
“It wasn’t me. Those bees…”
“
The bees were here because of you,” Ali said gently. “If you hadn’t brought everyone here to help us, I don’t know what I would have done.” He gazed at her. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
Jasmine smiled. Whoever this person she stood across from in this moment was, whether Ali or the boy named Aladdin she’d met at the market, he was pretty incredible, too. She could never have imagined feeling the way she did right now for someone, but she was glad she had trusted him. She was glad she had taken the risk of going on this magic carpet ride with him. Even with the danger and all that had transpired, it had been worth it to be with him.
SULTANA AMINA gazed out the palace window at the still blue lake across the meadow in the distance.
“Still doesn’t feel like home, does it?” Ramy asked her.
“Not yet,” she replied. “Each time I glance out, I expect to see my mountain ranges and to hear the roar of the sea beating against the cliffs. It’s strange to no longer be in Moribania.”
“We are in Moribania,” he reminded her gently.
“True,” she agreed. For indeed this new land was still the kingdom of Moribania, simply relocated from their homelands that had recently been reduced to rubble by a terrible earthquake. “I think it will just take some getting used to seeing it that way.”
“Give it time,” Ramy said. “Time has a way of smoothing things over.”
“Have you heard any complaints?” she asked him. “From people out and about? Any grumblings I should know about?”
“To the contrary.” Ramy shook his head. “Now that the last of the shops is finally built and the free medical clinics are up and running, everyone is content once more. Don’t worry so much, Amina,” he said. “Everyone is fine.”
“You always know the right thing to say,” she said.
“I have a knack for that, don’t I?” Ramy winked.
Amina smiled at Ramy. It was true. He did have a way of knowing just what to say and of helping the sultana see things in new ways. They’d grown up side by side since they were infants—he was her nanny’s son, and she’d never known life without him. It was he who had helped her to at last decide to make the move from their ancestral lands of Moribania to the newly purchased safer lands. He was also one of the only people in her life who spoke plainly to her as a person and not with the formality and the hesitation of speaking to one of the most powerful leaders in the Eastern hemisphere.
“You seem preoccupied lately,” Ramy said. “It seems to be more than just the move?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “It’s just that with the kingdom finally secure and people at last settled, I wonder if it’s time for me to begin to contemplate my own personal next steps.”
“Marriage?” he asked.
“A strong alliance with another kingdom would be good for Moribania. Particularly after everything the people have been through.”
“I’m certain you would have fifty suitors from the finest kingdoms lined up tomorrow if you let it be known you were interested in marriage.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “But I want more than a political alliance to strengthen Moribania’s position in the world, as important as that is; I also wish to like the person I marry and connect with them on a personal level. I’m not sure someone like me can have it both ways.”
“You’ll think of something, Amina,” Ramy said. “If I know you as well as I think I do, you will find a way to have both.” He smiled, lifted his duster, and walked out of the room.
Amina watched him leave and sighed. She knew a marriage filled with love and mutual understanding was a complicated matter when one was sultana of a kingdom many would be eager to make binding alliances with through matrimony. How to separate those who were genuine in asking for her hand, and those who simply wished to amass more power?
Just then her eye caught on the artwork framed beside a window overlooking the meadow. The piece was a simple enough canvas at first glance. A princess had gifted it to her recently during a diplomatic mission from her island kingdom, and Amina had loved it at first sight. It had a white background and two circles of paint, one blue and one a deep red, both dripping down into a swirl of purple.
And then, Amina’s eyes widened. She knew what to do.
The next day a royal invitation was sent to all the lands near and far. Sultana Amina was interested in marriage, said the invitation. However, as a busy woman, she did not have time to engage in courtship with many people. Instead, suitors were invited to visit the palace to answer one simple question. If they answered correctly, the sultana and the suitor could proceed with conversation, courtship, and possibly marriage if both parties desired.
From the moment the invitations were sent, people from around the world arrived daily, eager to at last meet the famed sultana. Royals from kingdoms large and small, some new to her and others quite familiar, lined up before the palace doors. Ramy led each person in, one by one. He escorted them into the royal hall where the sultana sat on her throne, and he asked each person who came the same question.
“The sultana would like to know what you see in that canvas,” he said, drawing the suitor’s attention away from the sultana and toward the art on the wall.
Some who arrived simply stared at him, confused at the question. Others grew irate at the idea of such a ridiculous request. Still others tried to sweet-talk and sidestep the question altogether, asking the queen for a moment alone. But Amina would not speak to anyone until they had answered this question correctly.
The interpretations of what the artwork represented were wide and varied. Some thought the painting looked as though it had been printed with little fingers, and thus the artwork meant the queen wanted children—an heir for her throne. Others thought perhaps the sultana had painted the canvas herself, so they told her they saw within the canvas a most intelligent and beautiful creator. But try as they might, each person got it wrong and were sent on their way.
“Perhaps a different test?” Ramy suggested one evening after a record fifty-seven suitors came and went, all dejected.
“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I compromise on so many things for the sake of my kingdom, but whom I spend my life with, I will choose on my own terms.”
“I hope soon enough you will see who it is you were meant to find,” Ramy said.
After many months passed, however, with not a single suitor close to guessing the truth behind the artwork, Karim, her advisor approached her, his expression tense.
“Forgive me, Sultana, but I must inform you that people are talking,” he said. “They wonder if you are doing this test out of some sort of perverse amusement. You have earned a great deal of goodwill among your subjects and your advisors and council members, but this game of yours is making many wonder about your state of mind.”
Amina watched him walk away. She kept her composure, but a flicker of worry rose within her. She knew her advisor did not mean to be harsh; he was entrusted to tell her the truth, keep his ear to the ground, and report back. If he had dared to tell her this so bluntly, the conversations had to be harsher than he was letting on. She wondered: was the advisor right? Was she truly asking for too much?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Ramy.
“It’s the strangest thing, isn’t it?” he said, staring at the canvas.
“What is?” she asked.
“How anyone cannot know what that painting is about. It’s plain as day.”
“You know what it means?” Amina asked cautiously. Though she trusted Ramy more than anyone else in her life, she had not told anyone what she had seen in the painting.
“Of course,” he nodded. “The separate colors—the red and blue—they are rich and beautiful, and then”—he trailed a finger following how they merged and consumed one another—“they change into a wholly new color. Except that if you study it carefully enough, you know that there are specks of blue and red throughout the new shade. They are one color, and yet still their own colors. It’s a portrait of lov
e. Or at least, love as it should be—a union, but one that honors the best of both people.”
Amina stared at Ramy.
Ramy. The man who had stood by her side all her life. The one who had helped her and counseled her. Who had never let her down. She could make so many good decisions and have so much insight about so many things—and yet, when it came to this, how could she not have seen? Why had she presumed she had to marry another royal for stability and security for her kingdom, when love was a greater stabilizer than a title or a person’s financial worth?
“It’s you,” she said softly. “It always has been, hasn’t it?”
Ramy looked at her. His eyes brimmed with tears.
“I had hoped one day you would see.”
The next day, a beautiful, elaborate wedding was held on the grounds of the palace. And from that day on Sultana Amina and her husband ruled their kingdom together. The people who had privately doubted Amina’s decision to marry Ramy understood with time that the union of two people who loved one another and helped one another reach new heights would only pass on its bounty and joy to their entire kingdom.
“YOU SURE you’re okay?” Aladdin asked Jamaal.
“It looked worse than it really was,” the boy said. “I feel okay now.”
Aladdin looked over the boy’s arms and neck, but aside from some bruising by his shoulders, he did seem to be all right.
“Thank you,” Jamaal told Aladdin and Jasmine as they walked toward the kingdom proper. They stepped onto the cobblestoned street and saw lights turning off in the homes they walked past. It had been a busy day; everyone was exhausted. Jamaal looked off to the side of the road. “It’s strange to think about it, but he’s here in this town right this minute. The jail is only a five-minute walk from right where we’re standing. He got out of the other prison, didn’t he? What if he gets out from this new one? What if he looks for me again?”
