Treachery of the Demon King

Chapter 1: The Lovers

The tale is told of Prince Ahmad, the rightful heir to the Holy City of Ravan, whose power and authority were usurped by his father’s widow Shammara in favor of her blood son, Prince Haroun. The tale tells how Prince Ahmad narrowly escaped death at the hands of Shammara’s plot, and how he traveled to the shrine of Sarafiq, where he and his advisor, the high priest Umar bin Ibrahim, were united with the storyteller-cum-wizard Jafar al-Sharif in the quest for the four pieces of the Crystal of Oromasd. The party of travelers, joined by Jafar’s tragically bewitched daughter Selima, Cari the Jann, slave to Jafar, the blond, statuesque Leila, and the mysterious monkey Verethran, traveled the length and breadth of Parsina in search of the pieces of the Crystal until kismet brought them unto El-Hadar, captain of

Hauvarta’s Shield

, on which they journeyed into the uncharted waters of the Western Sea to find the legendary sunken city of Atluri.

It was Jafar al-Sharif, driven by love of his daughter, who had to journey alone beneath the waves and explore the sunken city on his own, aided by the magical bark he’d obtained from the tree Raffiliz—the bark which the mysterious journal of Ali Maimun claimed would allow him to live under the water for two days. But as the heroic band nervously watched him disappear into the ocean, each was each was courageously trying to hide their doubts about whether they’d ever see their comrade again.

The quickly-fading Selima was the most concerned, for she loved her father very deeply and knew what he was risking to save her. Only by gathering and using all four pieces of the Crystal could her father remove the curse that the vengeful wizard Akar had placed on her, leaving her unable to touch this world or be touched. Time was fast escaping, and no one dared guess how little of it was left to her. She could scarcely see her own body at nighttime, and she was having to speak ever more loudly to make any of this world hear her. She was increasingly fatigued, near exhaustion; though she would never burden others with this knowledge, it made it clear her life could now be measured only in weeks. Selima wondered whether she would even last until the first floods of spring, when Prince Ahmad had to lead the armies of mankind against the demon legions commanded by Aeshma, king of the daevas. She only hoped she could be on the Leewahr Plains to watch Ahmad, so smart, young and brave, win—as her pure heart trusted Oromasd would grant—his inevitable victory.

Selima stood at the side of the ship watching the spot where her father had disappeared. At last even the ripples died away, and the surface of the water became calm and indistinguishable from the ocean around them. Beside the translucent Selima stood Leila, only slightly less worried about Jafar’s fate. In the few months since he and the others had rescued her from the underground country of Punjar, she had come to love this man as she’d loved no other in all her life. Even though she knew him to be a fraud as a wizard, she also knew him to be a man of integrity and good will, a man whose overwhelming love for his daughter compelled him time after time to risk his life for her sake. She was, in truth, following him to the ends of the world, and would go even farther if he demanded it of her.

When she could stand no more to look at the vast expanse of sea, Leila said, “I am still not fully recovered from the rimahniya poison. Come with me, little one, as I go below to rest. We can do as much for your father in the hold as we can here on deck.”

And Selima agreed with a sigh to accompany the older woman down into the hold, where the bow section had been partitioned off by a blanket to give them at least an illusion of privacy aboard the small vessel. They would make some tea, or pour wine, or do something to keep their hands busy and their minds off their fears.

“The time has come, I think, for us to talk,” Leila said as she settled herself with a grimace on the uncomfortable pallet allotted her.

“We have talked many times, O—”

“We have spoken many times, but never since that first meeting in my room in Punjar have we talked heart-to-heart as one woman to another—and not even then, really, for you were too scared and worried to speak honestly.”

“Of what should we talk, then?” Selima asked.

“Why not the topic common to all women, love? You know that I love your father, don’t you?”

“I have guessed it.”

“It’s not uncommon for a daughter to resent the woman who would take her mother’s place—and possibly her own—in her father’s affections. I could not bear the thought of splitting your father’s loyalties and forcing him to choose between us. I would not war with you.”

“Thank you. Let me try to explain. I loved my mother very much. No one ever can or ever will take her place in my heart. But I will not become a slave to her memory. I watched my father do that, and it nearly destroyed him as a man. For years he was the most popular storyteller in all Durkhash. After my mother’s death he fell to pieces, and it was all I could do to push him forward. Now, once more, he is finally the father I knew. My…curse has brought him alive as a father, and you have brought him alive as a man. I give a daughter’s blessing on your love, and hope it warms you both for many years to come.”

“You are your father’s daughter,” Leila said with a wry smile. “More than ever, I wish I could embrace you.”

“If anyone resents you,” Selima continued, “it is Cari. I don’t envy you, having a Jann as an adversary.”

“I know.” Leila’s smile turned quickly to a frown. “I think I’m lucky she’s of the righteous Jann, or my bones would long ago have graced some foreign dahkma and I’d have gingerly trod the Bridge of Shinvar. I know I must make some move in her direction, but her power does scare me.”

Leila shrugged. “Well, that is a matter for another day’s worry. Meanwhile, we have not yet finished talking of love.”

“What do you mean? Oh, of course—your wedding. But—””

“No!” Leila said most emphatically. “I’ve had enough weddings for a lifetime, thank you. I speak of you, my dear. Don’t you know your own heart? I’ve seen your eyes glow when they rest on Prince Ahmad, and I watched your agony when you thought he might form a liaison with Princess Rida. I don’t need my special gifts to know your feelings for him.”

“I love him as a subject should love her ruler—”

Leila laughed. “If that were so, there wouldn’t be an unhappy monarch in the world. Your feelings for him are far from patriotic.”

“And if I do love him, what good does it bring me?” Selima snapped suddenly, the weeks of silence and swallowed frustration building to a near-shout. Then, as quickly as they were released, the feelings were buried again—but tears were pouring down her face like clear glass beads on a tinted glass vase. “For all my father’s valiant efforts, I know I’m going to die. Why should I continue to yearn for the sweet orange that forever will be beyond my grasp?”

“And suppose our mutually beloved Jafar does succeed in saving you. What will your heart say then?”

“If Ahmad wins his battle against the forces of Aeshma, he will be proclaimed among the mightiest kings of the world. Ravan will be his again, and whatever else he wants, besides. He’ll have no further use for me.”

“Are you so sure of that?”

“He is of the highest birth. I’m just a commoner—”

“He thinks you’re the daughter of a powerful wizard.”

“Which is why he treats me with respect instead of ignoring me,” Selima said finally catching her breath. She went on more in sorrow than in anger. “When he regains his crown, he’ll have his pick of princesses. If not Princess Rida, it will be some other lady of high birth and fine breeding.”

“You think it’s impossible, then, for a prince to love a commoner?”

“Well, not impossible,” Selima admitted reluctantly. “A prince may often take a commoner as a concubine.”

“Ahmad’s own mother was a concubine of common birth,” Leila said.

“That is true,” Selima said, and her face took on a faraway look. “Perhaps there might be some chance, then, that he’d condescend to take me as a concubine. I could be with him then, at least occasionally. Perhaps once or twice a year I’d have his arms around me. That might almost be enough, to have a taste of his love—

“No!” she said with sudden vehemence. “If I didn’t know you better, Leila, I’d say you were a cruel and callous woman to torment me so this way. I will never know the touch of his arms, or anyone else’s. I will die a noble virgin and receive my reward in the House of Song. Or, if kismet should grant that my father succeeds, I will have to tell Ahmad about my past. He thinks me so honest and pure now; when he learns I’ve deceived him all this time, he’ll surely spurn me for the liar I am. My future cannot lie with his.”

Leila opened her mouth to say something, but Selima cut her off. “I will hear no more talk of love. I may be divorced from physical pain, but my heart is as breakable as any woman’s. I will take what pleasure I can in his company and let my soul settle for that. It’s more than many women get, so I’m told. And when our lord Oromasd questions me in the House of Song about my life on earth, I will tell him that I was doubly blessed—first, to serve in his cause, and second, to love so good a man as Prince Ahmad.”

And with that, Selima turned and left the area, leaving Leila to lie back alone on her pallet and muse on the intensity and self-delusion of young love—and rejoice she wasn’t

that

young any more.