CHAPTER 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Where is he?
Nasser let out an exasperated sigh and shut his eyes, passing a hand over his bronzed face. His magician had never been late to a performance before.
One more minute...and he'll be sorry. He toyed with his finely waxed mustache, pulling and smoothing it into a fine point.
The magician was scheduled to be here at precisely two o' clock, but it was already one and a half minutes past the hour with no sign of the entertainer. Nasser shifted his eyes over to the exasperated princess sitting on the daybed to his left and gave her a hopeful smile.
"Trust me, my dear...the wait is worth it."
Impatiently winding a strand of polished midnight hair around her ringed finger, Sabah sighed loudly and reclined dramatically on her daybed that was piled high with generous silks and pillows. She rested her bare arms above her head. "I do hope you're right. I am becoming rather hot sitting here in the sun." She gestured lazily to her male assistants, and they began to cool her with two large paper fans.
"He will be here." Unless he wishes to have his hands cut off, the Shah thought wryly, the very idea causing a chuckle to rumble in his throat. His most prized magician would never want his talented hands to be sliced from his arms. He wasn't stupid, but why was he late today?
Reaching over to Sabah, Nasser smiled and brushed her heavily ringed hand. "My dearest, please don't fret. Come here."
The young woman reluctantly rose from her daybed, pulling her hand away from Nasser. She had only arrived at the palace three days ago from her home in Saudi Arabia to visit the Shah, and she was still tired from her journey. She did not have the time to sit around and wait for someone to entertain her.
A guard slipped in through the front doors of the gilded hall. "My lord, he is here."
Nasser straightened up in his cushioned seat at the sound of the guard's announcement and motioned for Sabah look. "Watch him. You won't be disappointed, my lady."
The guard opened the door to Nasser's chamber to bid entrance to Erik Ibrahim. At first Sabah was upset, because she did not see the magician immediately, but only moments later a broad smile spread across her golden face as she watched him enter.
He was a tall man, taller than the guard holding the door for him, and he wore a curious velvet cloak, colored dark red like spilled blood. He had long ebony hair that was tied back behind his head by a red ribbon with tails that trailed down his shoulders. Two large blue eyes stared out from his stiff face, scanning over his surroundings for a few moments before they returned to the Shah. The strangest thing about the magician, however, was the black mask that covered his face, only leaving his mouth and his chin exposed. The mask was very intricately painted, with silver and scarlet roses arching over his brow, their leaves reaching across his cheeks and over his nose. It seemed to sparkle and flash at Sabah as he turned his head slightly to look at her.
"My lord, my lady. Good afternoon."
His voice was unexpectedly deep, like the dull roar of the waves in the Caspian Sea, yet very soft, like the breeze that rustled the curtains. Sabah nodded at the magician to acknowledge him, and the Shah waved his hand impatiently.
"Well, get on with it, you're already lucky I haven't had your nose cut off for being late. Come on."
Jaleh thought she saw a murderous glint spark briefly in the magician's eyes, but when she blinked it was gone. The magician nodded his head slightly, stepped back, and let his red cloak float silently to the floor in a soft pile of velvet. He stood there, bare-chested, with a purple sash tied around his waist and a strange black medallion hanging on a chain around his neck. The magician displayed a wad of fabric dangling from a long wooden rod, and he dipped it into a small pail he had brought with him. He held the instrument to his face, as if he were examining it closely for some sort of flaw, a scratch or a tear.
All of a sudden, without warning, the magician uttered a sharp cry and the entire contraption seemed to burst into flame. He began to twirl the thing about in the air, and the fire danced wildly, snapping and cracking as it burned dangerously close to the magician's hand. He gave another shout, appeared to reach into the fire and pull out three blackbirds. The little animals alighted from his hand and flitted about near the ceiling before disappearing through a window above Sabah's head.
The young princess's heart fluttered, and her black eyes grew wide. The magician's arms began to glisten with sweat, his muscles twisting and flexing with all the agility of a dancer. The fire began to grow more intense, as did Sabah's fascination for the mysterious man. She could see his stony face behind the flames and watched the way his eyes steadily followed the fire. He looked like a cobra.
Nasser, meanwhile, had settled down back into his seat, satisfied. The magician had never disappointed him before, and he wouldn't disappoint him now. A smug grin lifted his dark lips and he reached for his silver goblet of red wine.
The name of the magician, Erik Ibrahim, was quite well-known throughout Mazanderan. Nasser liked to think that he had saved the brilliant wretch from a low life as a street performer downtown. That was how he had found Erik; on the dusty, weather beaten roads in the poor areas of the city, putting on small side shows for small crowds.
He'd first heard of him through one of his female assistants who had gone into town to purchase silks. According to her, the young man, dressed in filthy clothing and wearing a worn black mask on his face, performed astonishing tricks such as transforming a drinking glass into a little white bird right before her very eyes and setting water on fire. Intrigued, Nasser had sent for Erik and the man was brought before him. After watching him "audition" and perform some of his best tricks, Nasser adopted him into the royal staff. Erik was a reserved person and rarely spoke, but the Shah preferred to watch his tricks rather than listen to him talk.
When the magician had finished, he dipped his extinguished fire-rod into the pail again and bowed his head to Nasser and Sabah, who applauded his performance. The man's body was glowing with a sheen of perspiration from the heat, and his chest was rising up and down quite heavily; he was exhausted. Sabah couldn't take her eyes off of him.
"Very good, very good," the Shah announced loudly, motioning for the magician to approach Sabah. "Come and greet the princess."
The magician came up the marbled steps to Sabah's elaborate daybed. The young woman's heart nearly skipped a beat when he dropped to his knee and lowered his head to the floor. She caught a glimpse of a strange tattoo between his shoulder blades, something that looked like a bird, but he stood up again and her attention was immediately drawn to his face. His unblinking eyes stared down at her, examining her. He had a sharply angled jaw and a chiseled nose, brow and chin. The outer edge of his left ear was studded with beautiful little rubies and black onyx. The odd medallion he wore around his neck was shaped into a serpent's head with its fanged jaws wide open, gaping at Sabah, threatening to swallow her whole.
"Magician," she addressed him when she had found her voice, "your performance was very impressive."
He nodded gently, his hands clasped behind his back, but said nothing.
"I wish to see more of your tricks."
His gaze on her never wavered, but she sensed that he was a little irritated. "There is an execution tonight that I am to carry out, if you desire to attend." His dark voice was as smooth as the silks Sabah lay upon.
"You perform executions as well, magician?"
"Yes."
Sabah raised one sculpted eyebrow and stood up slowly, her brown eyes moving up and down his body once more, more slowly this time, taking in the defined structure of his form. "I will be there. And perhaps...afterwards...we can talk..." her thin hand lifted to brush against the trunk of his neck and his collarbone, but the magician stepped back from her, his icy blue eyes suddenly on fire.
"Don't touch me."
At first Sabah was upset and embarrassed, but then her brow furrowed and she cast him an equally hard glare. How dare he tell her to not touch him. She could touch him if she wanted to. She was a guest in this palace; she had the right to do as she pleased.
"You talk back to me, magician?" she said softly, crossing her arms over her chest. "You had better watch that tongue of yours, lest I have it cut out. And I must say, I would miss hearing that beautiful voice." She smirked, settling back down on her daybed. "Go."
The magician backed off slowly, his gaze still burning into Sabah's eyes for a few long moments before he turned, threw on his red cloak and swept silently out the door.
"My, my...you have become quite the little Sultana, haven't you?" Nasser commented, laughing and shifting in his seat. "My magician seems to have, ah...fired you up!"
Sabah chortled, brushing an elegant hand over her eyes. "He is mine. I do wish I could take him home with me, but he seems to bring you such good entertainment."
Nasser nodded, pulling at his mustache again. "Well, you may enjoy him while you can during your stay. I can arrange for him to sleep in your room, or have his supper with you, if you so wish."
"That would be lovely," Sabah replied quietly, flexing her fingers and giving the Shah a lopsided grin.
----------------------------
Erik Ibrahim floated down the empty hall, the red cloak billowing and collapsing behind him, his bare feet soundless on the cold tile. Another silly performance for another silly guest. Did they never tire of his old tricks?
He stopped at a door and pushed it open gently to reveal his quarters. The room was quite simple; a plain, neatly made bed sitting against the opposite wall, a small cherry wardrobe at the west wall, and a bureau with a wash bowl and a pitcher on top.
Erik removed his cloak and hung it up in his wardrobe next to all of his other elaborate costumes that the Shah had provided for him. He removed his leather mask and placed it on top of the bureau. He filled the wash bowl with water and rubbed his face vigorously, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror--a quick flash of dark red, twisted flesh and healed lacerations--before he grabbed a towel to dry his face.
He walked out onto his little balcony, stretching his arms high above his head and arching his back. The pleasant June breeze immediately sought to comfort him, caressing his naked face and upper body as it floated past him. He could not help but smile as he rested his arms on the railing and gazed down at the palace grounds. There was no one wandering through the rose gardens today; everyone was sleeping, basking in the warm sun streaming through their windows. Erik could never understand why one would want to stay inside on such a beautiful day.
Nature was like a lover to him. Every day he looked forward to feeling the sun stroke his back and inhaling the faint scent of the rose petals as if the fragrance were a drug. One brief moment of happiness for every day.
Although palace life was quite luxurious, Erik was severely depressed. He was a prisoner of the Shah's, in a sense: he was not allowed to venture beyond the palace walls, and he was required to perform for the Shah and carry out executions. He was utterly sick of the whole business, but he feared that he would never leave this gilded jail, forced to perform stupid tricks and kill condemned prisoners for the rest of his years. If he resisted the Shah's requests, he would be punished, just as any other commoner would be. After all, he was not of royal blood.
He'd been here for not more than two years as a magician. The Shah had taken him off the streets and ordered that he perform only for him from that time on, despite Erik's feeble protests. He had enjoyed being outside, delighting small crowds with simple sleight of hand...he hadn't wanted to be locked up inside this palace, performing the same tricks day after day for the Shah and his endless stream of guests.
Erik felt something brush his foot and looked down to see Ensi, the little black cobra, gently squeezing her jaws around his ankle. He laughed, reaching down to pull her off, and held her up in front of his face.
"Bashu will not be happy about this," he told her sternly, looking into her beady black eyes. Her forked tongue flickered innocently at him, tasting his scent.
Ensi had come into his room a number of times, sometimes slipping into his bed at night and biting his toes to wake him up. He did not have to worry about snakebite; her fangs had been removed by the serpent master, Bashu. He had to admit he enjoyed her company when she visited him, even though she was not one to make conversation.
He placed the reptile atop his shoulders and Ensi coiled around his throat, her tongue fluttering against his face. "I will let you stay for a while," he told her, reaching up to stroke her cold hard head. "Only if you behave yourself, however."
She tasted his nose, and Erik had to laugh out loud.
Only a brief moment of happiness.
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 61