Princess of Dhagabad, The (24 page)

“What did you tell the princess about me,
Hasan?” Zobeide asks, settling into an armchair and curling up like
a cat. The strange watery stone in her ring now looks like a clot
of yellow light with a bright blue beam shining out of its very
depths.

“I was hoping
you
would tell the
princess about yourself,” Hasan says.

“With pleasure.” There is a flicker in
Zobeide’s eyes as she turns to the princess. “Hasan knows how much
I like to talk about myself.” She smiles. “My name is Zobeide, as
you know. I am a sorceress and the Highest Priestess of the
Elements. This island is called the Island of the Elements.”

“I have never heard of the Island of the
Elements,” the princess says. “But I know the song about the fay
Zobeide who appeared before the caravan traveling from Dimeshq to
Megina.”

Zobeide pauses to stare at the princess, a
look of surprised amusement on her face.

“I was much younger and liked to show off,”
she says, glancing at Hasan.

“It is a very old song,” Hasan says. “Is it
really about you? I must have missed more than I thought.”

“It happened just before we met,” Zobeide
explains, laughing. “You will remember when I came from Baskary to
study magic in Dimeshq, and ever since then I couldn’t wait to
announce myself as a great sorceress.”

“Oh, yes, I remember that very well,
Zobeide.” Hasan smiles at his distant memories.

“Well, somehow I always ended up with a
reputation for legendary beauty instead, and I was desperate to
prove to the world that I was more than that. At that time the
caliph of Megina sent his vizier with rich gifts to ask for my hand
in marriage. The vizier was instructed not to take no for an
answer, which made his visit more than a bit irritating. You can
imagine how angry I was to be treated merely as a beautiful woman.
I decided to show these fools once and for all what a real
sorceress was. I followed the vizier and his caravan back to his
caliph…” Zobeide rolls her eyes upward, sinking into
memories.

“Does the song exaggerate or understate what
really happened?” Hasan asks.

“I would call it a misinterpretation,”
Zobeide says. “As you should know, all songs always misinterpret
real events.” She turns to the princess, slowly coming back to the
present. “This happened a long time ago, princess. Right now I am
much more the Priestess of the Elements than a sorceress, or a
legendary beauty for that matter.”

“What are the Elements?” the princess
asks.

“The Elements are the great forces that lie
at the base of the world, princess. The Cult of the Elements is the
oldest of all cults and the first Temple of the Elements built by
its followers is right here on this island. By now, I am afraid,
this temple is also the last…” Zobeide glances around the great
hall; and for a moment the princess again sees her as a small and
helpless girl, and again this feeling slips away more quickly than
a thought.

“The Cult of the Elements requires a lot of
sacred knowledge,” Zobeide says. “To learn all you need takes
centuries, and this makes its followers very rare. Frankly, I don’t
even know how I had the patience to go through all this. It must
have been my drive to match Hasan’s great achievements.” She
glances at Hasan and the princess fails to read her expression.
“Anyway,” Zobeide continues, “only by mastering your knowledge and
skills can you become a priestess of the Elements. But first you
must be initiated into the cult and gain the right to wear the
Stone of the Elements.” Zobeide holds out her hand, and the blue
flame from the stone in her ring flashes so brightly and suddenly
that the princess jumps in her chair.

The blue flame reaching her from the stone
seems to encase her in its light, clouding her mind, making
everything in the room step back, molding it into a single
background mass. Zobeide’s voice now reaches her as if from
afar—from the immemorial depths of time—explaining to a part of
her that is ready for this moment, long before her physical birth
in this world, explaining to the elements that compose her, the
meaning of the stone.

“This stone contains every quality attributed
to the Elements.” Zobeide speaks with a measured rhythm and the
princess completely gives in to it. “It is as transparent as Air,
and blue as Water; it encloses the Light of Sun, Moon and Stars;
and it is born of Earth. Thus the Stone of the Elements possesses a
power that can be used by those initiated into the cult.” Zobeide’s
voice trails away, becomes inaudible; but another voice still
sounds in the princess’s head, as if completing the thought.

The voice of the stone!

The words shape themselves in her mind,
sounding without any audible sound, bringing information in
measured waves to the essence of her being. The transparency of Air
enfolds her, clothing her in the Light of Sun, Moon and Stars. From
the depths of this transparent shimmering light a blue flame shoots
out toward her, piercing her mind. Blue flame, the blue of Water…and all these three qualities—the transparency, the light, and the
blue, embrace her, pulling her back to the Earth that bore her—and
the stone holds her in its power, the Earth that is the beginning
and the mother of all Elements…

Suddenly the blue flame disappears into the
misty depths of the stone, melting into semi-transparent yellow,
breaking the ancient magic, returning her to the green hall; to the
boiling domes in the marble basin; to the damp air filled with the
fresh smells of sea, pine, and life-giving Earth.

The princess stirs, coming to her senses,
feeling an unusual silence fill the room. Raising her head she sees
Zobeide and Hasan looking at her intently. She meets Zobeide’s
narrow green eyes, feeling the terrifyingly beautiful movement of
the ancient shadows enchant her, penetrating her very soul.

“The rulers of Dhagabad go back many
generations,” Zobeide says thoughtfully. “There is a connection
between you and this stone, princess…and something else…”

The emerald shadows of her eyes pull the
princess deeper into their enchanting turmoil. She loses her sense
of space and time. She is trying to draw away from this all-seeing
gaze, to keep at least a small part of herself intact, and yet she
is unable to resist the ancient priestess and the power of her
green eyes.

“I cannot explain it,” Zobeide finally says.
“But there is something premeditated in the fact that you,
princess, own a djinn, and that this djinn is Hasan.”

“I inherited Hasan from my grandmother,” the
princess says, feeling how inappropriate it sounds after all that
has been said here.

Zobeide looks away to stare into the greenery
beyond the open window.

“Your grandmother, princess, had decent
talents at one time,” she says with a slight touch of scorn, “for a
mortal, that is. But she never dared to overcome time, partly for
the fear of becoming all-powerful. Of course, like any mortal, she
was nowhere near absolute power. She grew old and died like
ordinary people do.”

“Did you know her?” Hasan asks. “Before…”

“She came to the Island of the Elements,”
Zobeide says. “We never quite made it to great friendship, but if I
only knew that she had found you, Hasan…”

“It is just as well that you didn’t,
Zobeide,” Hasan says. “I wasn’t able to face my existence at the
time.”

A silence falls on the room, disturbed only
by the tinkling of the water in the basin and light rustling of
leaves outside. The princess slowly recovers, trying to understand
Zobeide’s strange powers and her mysterious words, feeling
completely inadequate to the task.

“The ability to see fates and destinies is a
very frightening thing,” Zobeide says quietly. “But it is you,
Hasan, who should know better than anyone else. Or, perhaps, an
all-powerful one doesn’t know the meaning of fear?”

“Alas, we know it all too well, Zobeide.”

In his quiet voice the princess hears an echo
of the pain that she saw in his eyes on her birthday years ago.
With a sinking heart she listens to Zobeide ask him the question
she would never dare ask him herself.

“I still don’t understand why you decided to
become all-powerful, Hasan. You could have been free now, a great
sorcerer, your own master. Why didn’t you stop? Why did you go all
the way to the end?”

Zobeide’s voice is filled with despair. The
princess has the feeling that this is not the first time this
question has passed between them. She holds her breath, trying to
become invisible in a conversation in which she doesn’t belong, one
begun many centuries ago in another time, in another world.

“It is hard to tell where to stop, Zobeide. I
never completely overcame the feeling that there was something
vitally important just beyond my reach, a whole new field of
knowledge of which I was ignorant. It is impossible to tell how
much knowledge separates one from being all-powerful. Impossible
until you really are all-powerful. And then it is too late.” A
shadow runs across Hasan’s face.

“Have you never regretted your choice?”

“That is hard to say. The way I chose was so
long and required so much from me that I simply had no time to call
it a mistake and go back. It was much more natural to stick to this
way till the end and, enjoying its advantages, put up with the
disadvantages as well.”

“Are you calling your life putting up with
the disadvantages, Hasan?”

“By no means, Zobeide.” Hasan’s eyes sparkle
with amusement. “Most of the time I am enjoying the advantages…”
He shoots out his hand to catch a brass candelabra that is flying
at a great speed out of nowhere, aimed straight at his face.

“I never liked it when you started to make
jokes in the middle of a most serious conversation,” Zobeide
says.

“There is no such thing as a serious
conversation, Zobeide.” Hasan laughs.

“Of course there is,” Zobeide insists. “Those
are the conversations where I start throwing objects when you joke!
At least your reflexes are still good.”

“I am glad there are no weapons in this
room.” Hasan carefully sets the candelabra on the glass table in
front of him.

“Do you remember our magic duels?” Zobeide
says. “I have to admit, I was terribly vain and proud and I wanted
to prove to the whole world, and especially to you, that I was the
greatest of all magicians.”

“The best way to become a djinn,” Hasan
points out.

“Never.” Zobeide smiles. “I just wasn’t
talented enough. It is one thing to appear in a purple cloud,
levitate objects, and turn water into wine, and quite another to
comprehend the world to its end.”

“What is the difference, Zobeide?”

“You are laughing again, Hasan!”

“I am deadly serious.”

Her smile widens, but the princess imagines
she sees a tear glistening in her eye. “It’s so strange to see you
again, Hasan. It may sound trivial, but you can’t imagine how glad
I am!”

“To be honest, Zobeide, I also have strange
feelings. I used to think I had no past…”

“So recently…” Zobeide says absently, “and
yet so long ago.”

“Do you really feel so old, Zobeide?” Hasan
teases. “I could never tell, I mean, just from your looks—”

The candelabra leaps from the table once
again, but this time it suddenly jerks aside and disappears in the
water of the marble basin.

“You forget that you cannot use magic of your
own will, Hasan!” Zobeide exclaims, laughing.

“Is this magic?” Hasan asks naively.

“It is more than a Dimeshquian court mage
could do. Remember the one that challenged me to a magic duel, and
you bravely came to my rescue because I was completely unable to
defend myself at the time?”

“It wasn’t just that, Zobeide.” Hasan says,
suddenly serious. “It wasn’t chance that brought me to the Plaza of
Mages. It wasn’t chance that we met. It was a beginning of a new
phase of my life.”

His words hang in the air, almost
substantial. It now seems as if there is almost a visible link, a
bridge of power that goes between Zobeide and Hasan, connecting
them with a special bond—as if an ancient shadow separates them
from the marble hall, the fresh smells from the window, and the
princess who sits in deathly stillness, afraid to interfere in this
conversation that reveals to her so much of Hasan. Holding her
breath, she listens to Zobeide ask another question that she
herself would never have dared to ask.

“What is it like to be all-powerful,
Hasan?”

Zobeide’s voice is ringing with pain that she
isn’t trying to hide anymore. And, in response to that pain,
Hasan’s voice sounds very gentle.

“It is very strange to be all-powerful,
Zobeide,” he says. “You can do anything and yet you are as helpless
as a child. Most of all I am glad I did not forget how to be
surprised. And even more than that I am surprised that in reality I
still know so little…”

“What is the meaning of absolute power, then,
if it isn’t to know everything?”

“I mostly know that all questions have more
than one answer. The more answers, the more questions, and it never
seems to end.”

The princess listens to their conversation,
feeling completely unreal. She can only vaguely understand its
meaning—of the looks they exchange, of the power that hangs almost
visibly in the green marble hall. The unpleasant stinging feeling
she experienced at the beginning is gone. Whatever Zobeide is to
Hasan, their relationship is so beyond her comprehension that she
cannot feel troubled by it. After all, who is she to attempt to
penetrate Hasan’s mind? She feels more and more aware of how
impossible it seems that her life is so closely connected to this
ancient, wise, perfect, all-powerful being. She is uneasy at the
thought that Hasan is her slave, and that in spite of her being so
small and unworthy, she must continue to give him orders, because
he cannot use even the tiniest fraction of his great powers of his
own will. At the same time she feels that the ancient shadow
separating Hasan and Zobeide from herself is part of the past, as
distant as the centuries and millennia that lay between the present
and the time of their youth. Whatever is was that connected these
two extraordinary beings, whatever feelings existed between them,
they were resolved two thousand years ago when Hasan became a
djinn.