One Hundred and One Salhinid Tales

[magical girl salhin]

LXXV

THE TALE OF THE BOY WHO BECAME KING

Once, there was a little boy, and that little boy woke to a dark and empty world..

So he reached out in the darkness, and found a crown. And with trembling fingers, misty-eyed, he set it upon his head. And, lo and behold! Light! And then the boy could see.

Crowned, the boy saw the wastes of ash, long abandoned. Crowned he saw, too, his own and painful solitude.

And saw he blew his breath onto the ash and saw, beneath it, resting, a man and a woman.

"Please wake", pleaded the boy, "For I am alone and scared". And the man stirred to wakefulness.

"Please wake", pleaded the boy, "For I have none to love me". And the woman, too, stirred to wakefulness.

Phor and Ephia, they were, and each set their hand on the boy's shoulders.

And the boy was no longer alone, and the Disc was his to make.

But as he made it, for children are oft bored, if not entertained, Ephia told him a tale:

"Once", she said, "There was a city..."

[magical girl salhin]

LXXVI

THE TALE OF THE BREAKING OF THE AXE

Once, there was a city, and in that city many precious things were made.

Silver and bronze were forged into jewels and artwork, and every day the hammering rang like a thousand beautiful bells. And lording over the city that was Bet Nappahi was Cyaxares. Brave Cyaxares! Tall Cyaxares! Cyaxares, of the Silvery Spear and the Axe! Cyaxares, who fought and fought tirelessly almost every single day of his life!

On a certain day, it came from afar, an empire, the long tendrils of its tyranny spreading like a plague. Alas! For this city was in the empire's path. Allied with others, this beautiful city sought to defend itself and its friends, and so did Cyaxares forge from earth and bronze beings that would aid him in vouchsafing the Desert and its marvels. And these beings did turn their hammers to iron and steel and bronze, and the silverworks rang with the violence of spear-craft and shield-make, of arrow-fletching and the smithing of axes.

And from an allied city, a general came and said: "Behold! For your craft is subtle, but so is your understanding: there is no staying away from bloodshed! No matter how sharp your axes, they shall amount to naught, without a strong arm to wield them!"

And then this general took the greatest axe of them all, a thing of beauty so big and heavy it'd have taken twenty giants to carry it. And he lifted it above his head. And he said: "Behold! The axe is raised! Who shall now follow it to defend what they love?"

And the craftsmen raised their hammers, their axes, and cried as one. "We shall!"

And so, the general rallied his thousand legions and, with their aid, turned back the attack of the Empire. But, once the attack was turned, a debate formed, amidst the allies, within the city which once had worked silver and bronze for things of beauty and subtlety.

"Is it enough to defend ourselves, and let this threat live?"

The general and his legions sought to fight till the bitter end, and erase this empire from the disc. But others, so many others, did not wish to pursue bloodshed. And who can we say who was right, after all, when the heart longs for peace but the world is soaked in blood? And so the debate raged, and so the legions kept on hammering their blades and weapons.

It came to pass that the debate, unsolved by word, was resolved by violence. For the general raised the axe, not against the empire and its tyrant, but against his own allies. And in one fell swoop, cleaved the head of his own sister, who had clamored for peace.

But upon breaking her head, the Axe, too, broke, its pieces shattered and scattered. And thus scattered, too, were his host, into a thousand clans for each of a thousand fragments.

And it is said that the biggest fragment lodged itself into the general's heart, and that the general would leave into exile, forever broken by what he broke. For there is, it said, great sadness in the breaking of things.

And before he left, bestowed upon his cohorts one last piece of advice, a tale.

"Once", he said, "there were giants..."

[magical girl salhin]

LXXVII

THE TALE OF THE BLOOM OF UR-SHULGI

Once, there were giants. Oh, tall and grand they were! And if they were tall in body, how tall were they in spirits and mind? For they knew many things that are now forgotten, and many stories that are now lost to time.

And amidst their eldest was a kindly giant, named Ur-Shulgi. Oh, how kind she was! Ur-Shulgi had the heart of a poet and the hands of a mother! She wielded no weapon, no sharp instrument, no axe, no pick, not even a needle. She wore a veil so as to not swallow an insect by accident and, when she walked, she broomed ahead of her, to keep every little creature safe and alive.

But Ur-Shulgi's greatest talent was for the things that grow. For she had orchards and fields, where she tended to her gardens and sang beautiful flowers into bloom. And so it was that Ur-Shulgi was called the Beloved of Flowers.

Indeed, the Beloved of Flowers, the kindest of giants: Ur-Shulgi! Her many-hued garden would've been the envy of every king!

It would've been the envy of every king, and so one day it became the envy of the Empress.

Quoth the Empress, "I should have such flowers in my court!"

And year after year she tried to grow the same beauty, and year after year, she failed.

Quoth the Empress in frustration, "If I cannot grow these flowers, then none shall have them!"

With these words, the Empress wove a spell and, in the darkness of the night, slipped into Ur-Shulgi's garden. Then, while Ur-Shulgi slept, the Empress worked a profane spell amidst the soil and the flowers.

It came to be then that  over the next few days, Ur-Shulgi realized that her garden was slowly withering, the petals drying, the roots gnarled, and all was turning to ash!

So Ur-Shulgi put all her magic, and all her knowledge, into a counterspell. And she sang a song of magic, and of growth, to keep the tides of deadly poison away. A song of blooming, a song of the wild. Alas! For the Empress was empowered by an empire's worth of vile sacrifices and the most barbaric of rites, and so the garden still withered, and Ur-Shulgi's daisies rotted, her carnations dried, her beloved lilies fading before her eyes. Until, at the end, there was nothing in her garden but a humble dandelion.

Oh, how Ur-Shulgi wept and despaired, and deep were her sorrows and her anguish, until it came to her a realisation. Why has she been trying so hard to keep her garden in one place? Why should the flowers be but tended to her? And so, she took the humble dandelion, and scattered it to the four cardinal directions, spreading it like stars upon the firmament. Upon the winds it is borne, hardy and defiant, taking roots wherever it may find even the most frail of soil.

And it is said that Ur-Shulgi resides beyond the Valley of Wisdom, tending to the Desert as her many-hued garden, and those with keen ears claim they can hear, at night, the echoes of the song that kept the poison of the Empress at bay...

And in her song there was this tale:

"Once, there was a forest of fifty trees..."

[magical girl salhin]

LXXVIII

THE TALE OF THE BURNT FOREST

Once, there was a forest, and in this forest there were Fifty Trees.

How grand they were and how ancient! Branches so tall that they reached the sun itself, roots so deep that they reached the bedrock of the Disc. They were ancient trees whose leaves kept all safe from Pra'raj's harm, trees of wisdom, trees where entire cities and civilizations could grow with delight. And they were all tended by the beautiful Ur-Shulgi.

In these ancient times there was, also, an Empress. A grand and wicked Wyrm who had grown so fat and so grand and so heavy with bitterness and hunger that she wished to feed on the Disc itself. And how deep was the Empress's envy! How grave her wickedness! How deep her control! And how terrible, how fearsome, her armies.

Long had the giants of the Desert  kept the Sibilant forces of the Empress at bay. Long had their Silvery Cohorts stood, a wall of shield and spear, against this greedy enemy who would devour all the Disc. And at the head of these cohorts was none other than Cyaxares! Brave Cyaxares! Tall Cyaxares! Cyaxares, of the Silvery Spear and the Axe! Cyaxares, who fought and fought tirelessly almost every single day of his life.

Fought every single day save but one day a year. For once a year, the brave general of the Cohorts left the frontlines to meet with his beloved. And under the shadows of the Fifty Trees, he embraced Ur-Shulgi, in hopes that, someday, they'd have a child to raise in peace.

And so it was that the Empress saw it, and so it was that she envied, and planned, and schemed. And one night, when Cyaxares left for his yearly rest, she threw her many-hosts and armies against the wall of the Cohorts. Oh, what a battle it was! And what a deceit, too! For under the shadow of the night, the Empress's dragons took flight, and soared above the battle, above the clouds, only to descend far, far within the Desert. To descend, with fire, onto the Forest and its Fifty Trees.

Cyaxares and Ur-Shulgi were awakened by the flames, but it was too late to stop the burning! For how does one stop a fire when it is raging? How does one stop destruction, when it has begun? Is there a way to stop the process by which the world may turn to Ash? They tried, of course, and they failed. And when dawn rose, red and bloodied, Ur-Shulgi laid crying, amidst the Ash. How bitter her tears, how deep her anguish. She was in such deep pain, in such deep crying that she didn't notice Cyaxares had left.

Cyaxares wielded his axe and his spear and charged with such fury onto the Sibilant that even now, the hatchlings of the hatchlings of those who saw the battle have nightmares. And he fought for a day and he fought for a night and he fought for three and four and seven. And he fought so long that the ground was watered with blood. He fought for so long that, eventually he forced the Empress herself to emerge.

And it is said that Cyaxares grinned, blood-soaked Cyaxares, he launched his spear with an almighty strength and fury even as the Empress descended upon him. In the same instance that his spear pierced the Empress' eye and rendered her to ash, so too did the Empress break Cyaxares, and rendered him to dust.

It came to be that on a certain day, Ur-Shulgi found the strength to stir from her sorrows. And it is said that she visited the battlefield where her beloved had died. And it is said that she found naught of him save for a sapling plant. This sapling, she took into her heart. And this sapling, she carried onto a hidden place. For this sapling was the child they never had. And this sapling would, one day, be the Forest that Once Burnt, Renewed.

And Ur-Shulgi whispered to the sapling in the deep dark places of the world:

"Once, there was a woman, a man, and a chalice..."

[magical girl salhin]

LXXIX

THE TALE OF THE WOMAN, THE MAN, AND THE CUP

Once, there was a woman, a man, and a cup.

The woman lived in the City when it was young, and oh, how verdant it was! The garden bloomed in every direction, its canals gleaned with limpid waters, and it had no walls save for rows of flowers and no slums save for fertile fields with blooming dandelions. Be one hither or thither, there was water, there was green, and there was joy.

And the woman was beautiful, a jewel exceeding jewel, with eyes of the darkest wine and lips a sanguine red. It is said that on a certain day she had beheld an old hag, thirsty and parched, and from her heart had only given an earnest prayer of goodwill and gave the waters of her pouch to the hag. Lo! For the hag was none other than the Mother herself in disguise, and so blessed was the woman, quoth the Mother, "Wherever you settle will be a garden, and all shall bloom so long as you know not heartbreak."

Once there was a man who arrived in the City. Gentle were his words and such a tale he could spin, and his songs were enrapturing and the myths of his making could entrance all creation. The two met and their love would be the marvel of all, and they loved each other as the sea adores the shore.

On a certain day, alas, there came to the City an emir who was vile and wicked in his heart. Yet, he wielded profane powers and at a word he could command walls to rise and palaces to sink, or instill in the machines of Pra'raj a wicked animation to do ills in his name. There were few who could withstand his remade legions, and it so came to pass that he learned of the woman blessed by the Mother. Oh, how his blackened heart burned with want when he learned of her, and he desired her for she is the promise of creation.

So it came to be that with bronze and silver he murdered him, and with that original evil sought to seize her as his prize. Yet, before he could do so, she wept her blessings into a cup, and fled into the deepest dark of the Disc, and hid the cup away so that it may be forever denied him.

It was a simple cup, but it held a frail and flickering hope, but as she hid it away she said, "Children of the Wheel, know that a better time will come. Know that someday the wicked will fall and the righteous will inherit the garden. Know that our hope will be hidden from the unworthy, and to the worthy will our future be renewed."

[magical girl salhin]

LXXX

THE CLAY PRINCESS

Once upon a time, there lived a clay princess in a faraway Ring. There, life was harsh. Her mother was a cruel and callous woman, and the peoples of her Ring were violent and belligerent. Oftentimes, they would engage in strange rites where they did battle upon a bridge until blood is shed and a life is taken. To advance in her society, one had to be strong and wicked, and those who claimed lordly or knightly mantles would embody very little of the virtues that they ought to uphold. Instead, they oppressed the weak beneath them and butchered their foes with little disregard for the milk of human mercy.

In time, her father fell deathly ill, and all the alchemies and magics of her Ring could not cure the ailment. Her house squandered vast fortunes on the trying, but for all of their best efforts they were left with nothing but woe and destitution.

On a certain day, she gathered what was left of her house's retinue, turned to the King's Keep, and began to walk. Through ring after ring she and her men walked, and a thousand thousand rings went by. They faced many travails and tribulations, and she wept bitterly for each of her loyal retainers who perished, be it in the Smolderpeaks or when one of her servants failed a mathematical riddle, but eventually, she arrived at the King's Keep.

There, she found a lighthouse perched atop the ruins of a castle, reaching far towards the heavens, and exuding such brilliance that it could be seen from even the most distant of rings.

And in the ruins of the castle, there was a dragon.

Quoth the clay princess, "Please, I beg of you, grant me audience with the King, for I bear a fervent wish: that my father, deathly ill, may be saved and made hale again."

Quoth the dragon, "Oh, foolish daughter. There is no King. There never was a King. This City was nothing but the conjuration of a thousand thousand coincidences, the natural laws of heaven and earth coming together to see it be made. The Disc had always been here or always would be here, wrought of an instance of ineffable creation when all the materials of our world came together and then birthed a thousand stars. All that the King is and always has been a fantastical hope imagined by you poor, wretched mortals, imagined into being because you could not bear to otherwise comprehend a world where all your suffering and anguish could not be justified or made right by a sovereign above you."

Concluded the dragon, laughing wickedly, "And so I made a lamp of your hopes to draw you into the mists, your imaginations ever enticing you onwards deeper and deeper into these bitter fantasies of yours, until here in the ruins of this keep I devour you whole. For I am Death, and all of you are ever making your way to me. Now, later, eventually, you will all be devoured in my maw, but those of you who hurry the faster I welcome first. Abandon all hope, you who live and suffer, for at the end there is nothing, nothing but a dragon's maw, nothing but the last of your pain and the merriment of my mirth. Your father will die. You will die. You will all die."

It is said that there are three endings to this tale.

In the first, the clay princess was devoured. This is the end that comes to all mortals. There is no King, there is nothing to save us, there is no salvation at the end and nothing beyond it. Our life is all we have, and how we spend it is the only choice we get to make; whether to stay to tend to our garden or to adventure through the rings, either way, we perish.

In the second, the clay princess rebelled against death. She fought and fought and fought, and the harder she fought, the longer she lived. She employed physicians that made weapons against death, pills which granted the strength and vitality needed to withstand another of the dragon's blows. She trained and honed her body to be more resilient, and unearthed secrets with which to endure. Yet, eventually, she too, died, though many more years did she buy.

In the third, the clay princess departed from the King's Keep, and embarked upon a long and hopeful quest to remake the world and cure creation of its injustices and imperfections, that she may see birthed a world where the garden bloomed and Death itself is slain.

[magical girl salhin]

LXXXI

PARABLE OF THE CANDLES OF WHITE AND GOLD

So it is said that there stood two candles side by side in a chamber buried within the deep darkness of the Disc's bedrock. One was made of pure white wax, and the other a wax of saffron gold.

Quoth the white candle, "Mine is a light without tarnish, and my flame is pure."

Quoth the golden candle, "Mine is gilded with gleaming gold, and my flame shines with a holy saffron."

On a certain day, a dark fire swept over the chambers, and both candles melted together. It is said that a gentle giantess gathered the wax together and shaped them into a single candle, which lends light in the darkest places of the Disc to this day, its flame brighter than either of the two had ever been by themselves.

[magical girl salhin]

LXXXII

THE EMIR'S FALCON

An emir had a beloved falcon who was his constant companion. One day, while hunting in the Desert, the emir felt thirsty and sought from his retinue a cup of fresh water. When the cup was conveyed to him, the falcon knocked it away. The emir grew angry, and demanded for yet another cup. Once more, the falcon knocked the cup away.

Outraged, the emir bellowed for yet another cup of fresh water, and for one of his men to pull the falcon away. As the emir was about to thirstily sip from the cup, the falcon tore free of his man's hold, and troubled the cup so that the water was sent flung onto the sands. In a rage beyond rage and blinded by red, the emir struck at the falcon, killing it.

As the falcon fell onto the sands and fled, it came to the emir's sudden awareness that there was a jerboa that had been trying to lick at the waters from the sand in a great thirst, and that jerboa had began to fall aside, convulsing in pain. Startled, the emir learned then of a plot schemed against him, and that it was he who had transgressed his falcon when his falcon had only sought to save his life. In mournful anguish at what he had done and what had betided his constant companion, the emir wept, and could only marvel at the extent to which his faithful falcon had sacrificed to protect him.

[magical girl salhin]

LXXXIII

THE WARSHORN TAPESTRY

Long gone before in the days when the Caliphate was yet mighty, Caliph Osman I had a sleepless night and invited a famed Hakawati to tell him a tale. And thus it began: some years ago, the Hakawati had been in Ilstu when, being oppressed by an excessive heat from the demon Pra'raj, had went up to a great door to ask for a drink.

Thereupon he became suddenly aware of a damsel, as she was a branch swaying, with eyes languishing, eyebrows arched and finely pencilled, clad in a shift the color of a pomegranate-flower and a mantilla filigreed with saffron gold. Pleasantness prevailed in every part of her, and indeed it was said that she was of such beauty that a poet penned: "Any aspect of her charm we see seems of the whole a simile." But she seemed dejected, disturbed, and in the vestibule of her home she sat and wove a tapestry.

The Hakawati was overawed and drew near her to greet her, and she replied with a voice dejected and with the ardour of passion sapped. Quoth then the Hakawati, "O, my lady, I am an old man and a stranger in these parts and am sorely troubled with thirst. May I beg you for a draught of water?"

Quoth the lady in turn, "I will do so, by the Mother's mercy, though you may have to forgive my lethargy for I am distracted from all thought of meat and drink."

Quoth the Hakawati, "By what ailment, oh lady?"

Answered her in turn, "One with whom I am beloved is far afield now, beneath the Caliph's banner, and upon distant shores he wages war for the Caliphate's glory, and yet here I am embittered with fretful anguish and an abiding sorrow."

Such sorrow was etched upon the Hakawati, and as he regarded the tapestry that she was weaving, such marvel exceeding marvel dawned upon him. For she was weaving a life that she could imagine of her and her beloved, of the merriment that they would share and the summer passions they would indulge, of the child they may come to have and their passing in an old age. She had woven a tapestry of their life for he was far away and only in that indulgence of her imaginations might she yet have an escape from fretful grief.

The Hakawati know not to this day if he ever returned to her, for the Caliph's campaigns were yet drawn in length, as barbarians stir upon the frontiers and the rebellious yet needed to be subjugated. Hearing of the Hakawati's tale, however, it dawned upon the Caliph the breadth and measure of the anguish of the wars which he must partake, for not only were those afield who must endure, but those too at home that must wait with bated breaths for the returned of those who are beloved. It is said that the Caliph could not recall his legions for he yet sought to pacify the Desert, but for her he summoned her beloved home, that what she imagined in her tapestry may at least be hers in truth. The tapestry he bought for ten thousand dinars, naming it the war-shorn tapestry, for it reminded him always of those shorn apart by war and the weight of his decisions.

[magical girl salhin]

LXXXIV

THE SULTAN SEARCHES FOR A MATCH

Once, it is said that a certain Sultan sought a suitable match, and dispatched his vizier to scour the Desert for those who would be able to aid him in restoring the strength of the Sultanate. It came to be that there were many paraded for his consideration, and they were beautiful beyond compare, of loveliness exceeding loveliness, yet he would question them and after words were shared the vizier could only despair as the Sultan would spurn them.

On a certain day, the Sultan summoned his vizier and informed him that he desired to go down to the streets of Baz'eel whereby they shall question the common folk concerning the conduct of those charged with governance. This was typical of the Sultan, for in so doing he would learn much of the people's weals and woes, and the vizier was unsurprised. Together and hooded, with a small retinue of guardsmen, they descended the Ecstatic Terrace into the quarters of Baz'eel. Yet, travails and tribulations greeted them, and they soon found themselves scattered by the vicissitudes of misfortune, until the Sultan was parched and thirsty as he stumbled to the doors of a household.

There, he knocked once and twice and yet again, for it was late in the hours and for a moment he despaired of any aid. Yet, the door opened, and there came hurrying to his assistance a young damsel who was plain of features yet bright of smile. Such kindness she showed without hesitation, lending draught of water and letting him break his fast, despite how his clothing was ragged and tattered, or how her own respite was interrupted by his woe. They spoke for hours, of affairs in the Sultanate and in the city, of the Wheel and of foreign states, and he found to his wonder beyond wonder that she was as well-learned as she was kind.

And then, in a fey moment of fancy, the Sultan asked her to wed him, and the long hours they had spent had been enough to steal her heart, and she agreed.

Later then, the vizier finally found the Sultan, and kneeling begged for forgiveness. The Sultan forgave him, and introduced him to his new wife, who could only marvel in great astonishment.

Quoth her, "O auspicious king, you are His Sublimity, surely you would find one more fair than one as plain as I am, please, make not mockery of me, lest my heart be broken and impossible to mend."

Quoth the Sultan, "I found in you love because of your heart and your kindness; few of our subjects will ever behold us, but all will feel the weight of our deeds and our words. Our miens may be fair and beautiful, then, but that would do little for our peoples for whom we are entrusted to protect and vouchsafe; when instead it is our goodliness and our wisdom that would bring fortune or misfortune upon them."

[magical girl salhin]

LXXXV

SISTER BUTTERFLY AND GRANDFATHER BOULDER

In times of yore and in ages long gone before, there was Sister Butterfly and Grandfather Boulder, and together they sat atop a hill.

Others had rolled Grandfather Boulder there so that he might be above the trees and take in the Knowledge of dusk and dawn, and Sister Butterfly had been content to sit atop Grandfather Boulder to behold the world around her.

Quoth Sister Butterfly in wonder, "There are so many things out there! I want to see them all!"

Quoth Grandfather Boulder in reply, "Here I reside, content and in comfort, and here I shall reside."

Sister Butterfly was secretly relieved when he said so, for he was heavy, and she would never be able to carry him or roll him by her lonesome. And so, Sister Butterfly spun gossamer garments from the fields and flowers as her wings, and took upon the breezes that they may bear her to the cardinal corners of the world.

She visited many places and saw many things. She was the first to see all eight sacred animals and all four of the sacred plants. She rode the north wind, the east wind, the south wind, and the west wind. She ascended the mountains of dawn at the horizon of the Disc and descended the mountains of dusk to gaze out at all creation from their peaks. She saw distant lands, distant hills, distant trees, and even distant stars.

A thousand thousand years crept by as she wandered the world, until one day, she found herself on a strange hill with a strange rock upon it. It felt very comfortable and very warm to her, and she slept there, tired from her long sojourn, and when she slept, she dreamed. And when she woke up, she remembered, and hugged Grandfather Boulder and wept with joy.

Quoth Sister Butterfly in merriment, "Grandfather Boulder! I have seen so many things! I wish to share them all with you!"

Yet in her absence, Grandfather Boulder had become more and more like a rock, and he did not have eyes like she did, nor did she have ears as she did. He had become quiet and silent.

And so Sister Butterfly took a chisel, and began to carve upon Grandfather Boulder all the stories that she had heard and all the things that she had seen. And then he Knew. And upon that hilltop he began to ponder things other than the sky and the stars.

[magical girl salhin]

LXXXVI

MARIB II'S WREN AND THE HAWTHORN TREE

It is said that in times of yore, Marib II had once thought to disguise himself and shed the regalia of his sovereignty to spend a span of time in scholarship at the Grand Academy of Baz'eel. There, he was a reader of books erugitic and became well versed in the mysteries of the Wheel and the Knowledge, and became conversant in the virtues of rulership and the maladies of ill-governance. He was a match for his tutors in speechcraft, and he explored with great vim and vigor all the branches of the tree of knowledge.

It came to be then that during those days, Marib II befriended a wren, which he adored deeply. The little fluttering bird would accompany him from study chambers to lecture halls, and when he had to return to the Sublime Gardens to tend to affairs of state it too would learn to follow him.

On a certain day, Marib II met a damsel of extraordinary beauty and loveliness, gifted with brilliancy and possessed of abundant wit. She had a love for wassail and wine and choice verses and rare stories, and the delicacy of gifts. All these Marib II could have granted her as Caliph, but he wanted to pursue her as a man, and sought a dance of her without revealing who he was. Yet, she refused him, and playfully demanded of him a red hawthorn flower.

Quoth the Caliph, "With all of my Knowledge and my learnings, surely I can find of her this without relying on the gardens of the Sublime Garden, or the decree of my crown." For all his own efforts, however, the Caliph could not find a red hawthorn flower, be it for the unseasonal time or mere vicissitudes of misfortune, and he was deeply pained by the searching.

Noticing this, the wren flew to a beautiful hawthorn-tree, and asked for a sweet red hawthorn flower.

Quoth the hawthorn-tree, "Mine are white flowers, pale as the foams upon the Sea of Pearls and more brilliant than the snows of Kulkund. Speak to my brother yonder, perhaps he may be able to help."

And so the wren went to the other hawthorn-tree, who said, "Mine are yellow flowers, as gilded as the Caliph's own crown, more gleaming saffron than the many-pillared halls of the Golden Court. But speak to my brother yonder, perhaps he may be able to help."

And so the wren went to the third hawthorn three, who said, "Mine are red flowers, yes, but the seasons have been unkind to me and my buds had been snipped by the wicked, the ash has weighed my branches and the demon Pra'raj had withered the my leaves. I shall have no roses at all this year."

Quoth the wren, "But one flower is all I need, for my master's purpose!"

Quoth the hawthorn tree, "There is a way, but it is terrible. You must sing to me with your heart against a thorn, and all night long you must sing, and your life will flow into my veins and become mine." And so the wren sang, singing of the birth of love and the earnest prayers of the parted, singing of love perfected by death even as bitter pain coursed through her, even as the hawthorn pierced her heart.

Come dawn, then, Marib II found a beautiful red hawthorn flower, and joyously he went to the damsel whom he had been pursuing. Yet, when he presented the flower, she frowned and said, "I am afraid that that was yesterday, and this red flower will simply not go with my dress this day. Besides, the vizier's son had gifted me a jewel this morning, and everyone knows that jewels are more valuable than flowers." As for the wren who had loved and obeyed Marib II unconditionally, he barely noticed its absence, and eventually discarded the red hawthorn flower.

It is said that as travails and tribulations weighed upon Marib II in his reign, he grew corpulent and melancholic over the years. He died without issue, unraveling the hopes of Calipha Alikah, and inviting the Year of Three Caliphs.

[magical girl salhin]

LXXXVII

PARABLE OF THE GREEDY MERCHANT

Once, there was a merchant hauling in his arms a great bag of treasure. As he was crossing a bridge over the Edutu, he looked down upon the waters and gazed in delight as he could see a larger bag of treasure reflected upon its surface. With a delighted exclamation, the merchant dropped the great bag of treasure that he had been hauling, trying to reach for the larger bag of treasure's reflection.

Alas, as he did so, his great bag of treasure fell into the waters, and as it did, it perturbed the waters greatly and the reflection itself dissipated. Horrified and with a rage beyond rage, the merchant dived into the waters to try to retrieve his great bag of treasure, but he found that he could not lift it out of the waters with the strength of his arms. Struggling to do so, he eventually drowned, and so ended up with neither his treasures, the reflection, nor his life.

[magical girl salhin]

LXXXVIII

AL-HASSAN'S BROKEN NOSE

It is recounted that in the city of Baz'eel there used to live a man al-Hassan who became a merchant of the most opulent merchants. His wife had deceased when they were both young, and his friends were instant with him to marry again, such that being weary of contention he eventually entered into a series of negotiations with which to procure matches and a bride.

He made a festival therefor of his wedding banquet, bidding kith and kin, friends and foes, and acquaintances of painted knives to come and join him and make merry. There were wassails and sherbets, and mizzars and falafels, and they ate and drank and made mirth and merriment, and the bride was displayed in her seven dresses and one more to women who could not take their eyes off of her. At last, the bridegroom was summoned to her chamber, and so al-Hassan rose with dignity from his divan, and towards her chamber went. Alas, the wine had so addled his senses and robbed him of his lefts and his rights, that when he walked he stumbled, and fell, and broke his nose, such that a torrent of hot blood gushed.

Thereupon each guest turned to his neighbour and talked aloud and there were titters and sympathies. But al-Hassan pretended a call of nature, and to tend to his nose, but in lieu of seeking the bride-chamber after he went to saddle a camel and fled into the desert, weeping bitterly, beneath the sable cloak. He rode and he rode and fled to far Kha'esh, and he remained ten years in all solace and delight of life, and only near the decade's end did he yearn with a home-sickness.

So eventually he returned to Baz'eel, donning the rags of a mendicant, and keeping his name and mien secret. There in the bazaar near his old home, he listened carefully for seven days and seven nights, and so chanced that he heard a woman saying, "O, child, you were born on the night that al-Hassan fled the town!"

No sooner had al-Hassan heard those words did he flee from the bazaar and Baz'eel, never to return, for verily had his shame became a date and so he aboded in self-exile until he died. It occurred to him later, alas, that they recalled him not for his breaking of his nose, but for his flight that evening for what would otherwise have been a trifling thing.

[magical girl salhin]

LXXXIX

THE NECKLACE OF THE EMIR'S WIFE

There was once a devotee of Urazzir the Wroth who would abode to a certain emir's palace, whose dwellers would be blessed by her presence and she was held of them in high honor.

On a certain day, she had entered the palace according to her customs and sat down by the emir's wife. Presently, the emir's wife gave her a necklace worth a thousand dinars and bade her, "Vouchsafe this for me, while I go to the hammam." So she entered the bath in the palace and the pious devotee remained in place, and awaiting her returned the devotee laid the necklace upon the carpet before her and prayed. As she was thus distracted, there came a magpie who snatched up the necklace and fluttered off, hiding it in a crevice in a corner of the palace-walls.

When the emir's wife came out of the hammam, and sought the necklace of the devotee, they both searched for it but could not find it. The emir's wife was furious exceeding rage, and told the emir, and the emir had the devotee questioned by fire and grievous blows, and tortured her with all manner of tortures, but for all that she could not say what had happened to the necklace. Furious, the emir's wife ordered that the devotee shall be cast into the palace's prison and manacled and fettered.

One day, as the emir and his wife sat in the inner court, they saw the magpie fly into a crevice and retrieve the necklace. The emir's men seized the magpie and brought to the emir's wife her necklace, and by this the emir knew that the devotee had been wronged. Yet, the emir's wife was too proud to admit the folly, and refused to free the devotee.

So it is said that when the emir's wife put on the necklace thereafter, she convulsed and died, and when the emir sought the devotee from the palace's prison, she was nowhere to be found.