Princess of Dhagabad, The (30 page)

The sultaness strains her eyes to make out
the gender of the little child. Its clothes looks more like a
boy’s, but at this age it is so hard to tell. Especially with the
sultan’s desire to have a son that drives him to treat not only the
princess but also the daughters of his concubines more and more
like boys.

The child runs straight to the sultan and,
laughing like a spoiled favorite, buries its face in the flap of
the sultan’s robe. Putting on a look of displeasure, the sultan
pushes the child aside, throwing an irate and slightly embarrassed
glance at the sultaness. But the sultaness is not looking at him.
With wide-open eyes she is looking at the side door of the room
where she can now see a woman with long flowing hair, as if clad in
pale gold. The woman’s face is covered by a veil, but the sultaness
can clearly see her eyes—the color of turquoise—of the endless
waters of the sea.

“Eleida!” the woman calls softly and her
voice sounds like music.

Eleida.

The sultaness lets out a sigh.

A girl. Chamarat Eleida. Another
daughter.

The sultaness transfixedly watches the
golden-haired child happily running to her mother, grasping at the
folds of Albiorita’s garments with her tiny hands. She watches the
concubine throw a frightened glance, hold her daughter tightly
against herself, and disappear behind the door. Her heart stands
still at the sight of the tenderness in the eyes of the sultan,
following them with his gaze.

“I would like the princess to be happy,” the
sultan says gently, and the sultaness suddenly feels unexpected
closeness to her husband. The scene she just witnessed, which by
every right should have filled her with rage and jealousy, makes
her look at the sultan in a new way. For the first time during the
many years of their marriage she can see beyond his outward glamour
and terrifying gaze; beyond his gloom and anger at the whole world
that has denied him a son and a heir; beyond his singular beard
sticking out from his face. She suddenly sees a man like everyone
else who loves, makes mistakes, and feels guilty. She suddenly
realizes that she was wrong to worry about letting the sultan
decide the princess’s future, for he is concerned about the
happiness of their only daughter no less than she. And she feels
enormous compassion for this man’s lost hopes, for his failure to
change the will of the gods, who cursed him by denying him that
which he longs for most—a son and an heir.

With boldness that she found impossible
before, she steps forward and affectionately pats her husband’s
arm.

“I will inform the princess of your
decision,” she says, and, turning away quickly to hide the grateful
tears filling her eyes, she collects her garments about her and
hurries out of the hall.

The sultaness chooses a long way back. She
feels the need to walk without rushing along the side gallery of
the palace, along the edge of the garden adjoining the palace,
reveling in the suddenly acquired peace. A little later she will
discuss these events with Nimeth, now silently walking beside her,
feeling with infallible instinct that her mistress and friend needs
to be alone with her thoughts. For the first time in many days the
sultaness feels capable of simply enjoying the nice day, the
wavering greenery of the garden, the light breeze on her face.

The sultaness and Nimeth stop, hearing voices
ahead of them.

“If a place is described in a book, it should
exist somewhere in real life, Hasan!” they hear the princess
exclaim. “At least, that’s what my philosophy teacher says.”

“It doesn’t have to be the case, princess,”
Hasan replies.

The sultaness hears her daughter’s clear
laughter, and crossing the length of floor that separates her from
the turn of the gallery, stops to admire the peaceful sight.

The princess and Hasan are sitting side by
side on the stairs leading from the gallery to the garden. A giant
wood-bound book is hanging in the air in front of them, a book
which, most likely, no one in the palace has ever read, if only
because of its being so heavy that even lifting and opening it is
not an easy task. Hasan is saying something in a quiet voice and
the princess is laughing, flushed, her eyes shining. Looking at
them, at how carefree they are, sitting there together, how easy
they seem to feel with each other, the sultaness feels a slight
sting of longing.
If only
…she thinks, letting the flow of
wild dreams pull her into their turmoil. If only Hasan was a man
and the princess could marry him… There is no one else in the
world with whom the princess likes it so much to spend time. There
is no one else in the world to whom the sultaness could entrust her
daughter with such an easy heart. Is it possible to even imagine
another couple so carelessly happy with each other, seeing how they
sit on the steps of the palace, laughing, engaged in their
conversation?

A wave of reality sweeps over her without
warning, falling down on her like the blow of a hammer. To marry
the princess, Hasan has to be free. But unlike other palace slaves
there seems to be no mortal, and no immortal for all she knows, who
could free him from his slavery. Besides, how would it look for the
people of Dhagabad if their princess, the heiress to the throne,
married a freed slave? And, the sultaness admits with a sigh,
nobody says that Hasan, were he to become free—Hasan, an ancient,
wise, all-powerful mage—would wish to tie himself forever to her
young daughter. From his point of view, however much the princess
might enjoy his company, she most likely remains for him just one
of the many women he has known, a temporary mistress who is
destined to die within an unnoticeably short time compared to the
millennia of his life.

The sultaness sighs again, looking through
the tears filling her eyes at her happily laughing daughter, who
will have to leave this palace so soon to move to a new home and to
fulfill her duty. She admires the princess, who by age seventeen,
has turned into the incredible beauty she always promised to be,
enjoying the easy precision of her movements that she has never
seen in anyone else, the shifting expressions of her sharply
intelligent face, the shine of her dark-blue eyes, resembling now
more than ever the shine of sapphires in the sunlight. The
sultaness signals Nimeth and both of them turn back unnoticed,
disappearing behind the turn of the gallery.

Chapter 18. Labyrinth

“So you really mean that a place described in
a book doesn’t have to exist in real life?” the princess asks, her
curiosity piqued.

“Of course, princess.”

“But where does the description come from,
then? After all, to think of a place one has to see it somewhere,
at least in a dream.”

“Or in the imagination.”

“The place described in this book would be
impossible to imagine, Hasan!”

“The connection between books and real life
is not as simple as you think, princess,” Hasan says calmly.

“All right,” she says, giving up. “Let’s say
for a moment that it is possible to describe a place that doesn’t
exist in any reality. What I want to know is whether it can happen
the other way around.”

“What do you mean, princess?” Hasan asks with
a smile.

“Are there any existing places that are not
described in any book?”

“Of course there are, princess.”

“How could you know they really exist,
then?”

“As I told you, princess, the connection
between books and reality is not simple. I know of at least one
place that is not described in any book, but knowledge of which can
be obtained from reading books.”

“I don’t think I understand…”

“There are books one can read only after
acquiring a certain amount of knowledge, princess,” Hasan explains.
“One basic step in the progressive chain of knowledge is the secret
of immortality. In this way, therefore, some books cannot be read
by mortals.”

“But the place you are talking about is still
mentioned in those books!” the princess insists.

“No, it is not. But after reading the books
the knowledge of the place comes to you by itself.”

“What kind of a place could it possibly be,
Hasan?”

“The Dimeshqian labyrinth, princess. The
search for this labyrinth has always been a test for the highest
mages.”

“Is it hard to find?”

“If you haven’t reached the prerequisite
stage of knowledge, princess, it is impossible to see the entrance
into the labyrinth. Many mages, who considered themselves to be the
greatest wizards, spend years in Dimeshq in search of the
labyrinth. And many of them leave without finding anything.”

“Were you able to find the labyrinth at once,
Hasan?”

“I started looking for it at the right time,
princess. For that reason it wasn’t hard for me to find it.”

The princess puts her arms around her knees,
pulling them up to her chest, forgetting the argument and
thoughtfully gazing at the intertwining branches of the garden. She
feels a sudden sharp realization of the wide abyss that separates
her from Hasan and his endless knowledge and wisdom. The thought of
a place where he can go, but that she in her ignorance would never
find, suddenly becomes a symbol of the eternity that separates her
from this person—closest to her in the whole world—to whom she can
never be equal.

“I am so sorry I could never see the
labyrinth, Hasan,” she says softly.

“Actually…” Hasan says.

The princess looks up at him, filled with
sudden hope. Hasan laughs at the passion in her eyes.

“Were you going to say that there is a way
for me to see the labyrinth, Hasan?” The princess jumps up, unable
to wait any longer. “I would so much like to see it, Hasan!”

“Your wish is my command, princess.” The
djinn bows, still laughing.

Raising her head, the princess sees that they
are no longer sitting in the palace gallery. They are standing on
the stairs that lead up to a large building, just above a plaza
crowded with people. The unbelievable human chaos, bursting with a
rainbow of colors and a twirl of sights and sounds, resembles the
main plaza of the lower city of Dhagabad on a market day.

From where they stand, the princess can
clearly see that at the center of the plaza, free of people, there
is a giant stone platform in the shape of a strange-looking
pentagram. The diagonals of the pentagram are painted blue, forming
a star that shines brightly on the dark stone background.

“Where are we, Hasan?” The princess raises
her voice, trying to shout over the buzzing crowd.

“We are on the Plaza of Mages in Dimeshq,”
Hasan says.

“What is that platform in the middle?”

“That is an arena for magic duels,
princess.”

She frowns. “Why would you need a special
place for the magic duels?”

“It’s the official way for Dimeshqian mages
to determine who is the stronger.”

She tilts her head in wonder, trying to
imagine mages standing on the giant pentagram. “Did you ever see
such a duel, Hasan?”

A smile creases Hasan’s lips. “I have to
confess I even took part in some of them, princess.”

“You?”

“I told you I was a Dimeshqian mage once,
remember?”

The princess sees with a new meaning the
outline of the blue star shining in the middle of the plaza. This
time she notices that the seething crowd is not only avoiding the
pentagram itself but also leaving clear the space within a few
steps of the edge of the platform. The princess cannot help
wondering how bad were these duels, and whether they still happen
now, thousands of years after the Dimeshqian era that Hasan must
have known so well.

“Has anything changed here, Hasan?”

“Of course, princess. Every place changes in
the span of centuries. I find it more interesting that the changes
here are not that significant. Most of the buildings are different,
but somehow, the feel of this plaza is still the same.”

“Where is the labyrinth, Hasan? And how will
I be able to see it—not being a mage?”

“The labyrinth is inside the Dimeshquian
library, princess,” Hasan answers. “As for not being a mage, I can
help you see it,” he adds, chuckling.

“Where
is
the library, Hasan?” the
princess asks, dancing with impatience. She is fascinated by the
plaza in Hasan’s home city, but the thought of seeing a labyrinth
open to only the highest mages completely overwhelms her.

“Right behind us, princess. We are standing
on its steps.”

Turning, the princess sees large double doors
covered with chipped gold-painted stars. One of the doors is
half-open, letting out dim library light and beckoning with a very
familiar smell of ancient dust and parchment.

Stepping inside, the princess steps looks
around. Endless rows of bookshelves stretch out into the distance
and up to the arches of the wide dome—its skylights being the only
source of light scattered through the giant space. She is dazzled
by the sight of the innumerable book spines: large and small,
greasy and worn from constant use, shining with gold imprints, and
scribbled with strange ornaments—probably the letters of some
unknown languages. Being reasonably well-read, the princess still
could never have imagined a library of this size; and now, frozen
with amazement at the sight of such magnificence, her heart pounds
with the thought of how much knowledge must be contained in this
wonderful place.