Son of Mah

xi. spirits of the palace

The verboten, accursed part of this ancient palace had waited so eagerly for its dark, doomed tendrils to be caressed by the hands of a divine-born. It was thirsty to feel the breath of an avenger spread soothing coolness over its unhealed, gaping wounds.

Shahrazad wasn't aware of it as he stood outside the door of the forbidden room. It was night and the surroundings looked no less than possessed. Shahrazad felt the hair on his neck stand then and now as the squeaky mice ran across the corridor or the breeze extinguished the few remaining lamps that gave light.

He clenched his fists, taking a deep breath to fill his frightened lungs with determination. He had to find what was here.

But before he reached the bolt to unfasten it, it opened on its own. The door parted with a screech. Dust flew out of the room in swirls of smoke. Shahrazad covered his mouth and coughed.

"They seek you."

He gave a shiver. For once it seemed something was looming over his shoulder, whispering in his ears in the shrilly voice of some young maiden. The wind then gently nudged him to go inside.

"I have come here to unearth the clues. I must go in."

As soon as he stepped in the dim room lit by a few beams of the moon, the door closed slowly.

He was alone now, cut off from the other parts of the palace. From Shahryar. From Dunyazad. Perhaps the murderer too.

"Where have I brought myself?"

A maddened bat came thundering out of the window, cracking the glass into shards that pierced its skin. Bleeding and panting for life, it fell at the feet of Shahrazad. He wanted to run, but his body was frozen on spot. The window, now having a larger opening than ever, let in plenty of moonlight which brightened up the room.

The furniture was left untouched for uncountable days. Neglect had eaten away the youthful beauty of the room. There were beautiful little statues of fairies the size of his forearm, some vases whose flowers had wilted long ago and a soft velvety carpet beneath his feet. Yet the cold seeped in and paralysed his being.

There was a huge bed in the room, as big as that of the Shah, whose bedsheets were maligned with dried spots. Shahrazad knew those were red like blood. The darkness couldn't blind his intuition.

While going closer to the bed, his feet touched something rough. He bent down to inspect it.

"Really?"

It was a satiny night robe of some maiden. It was torn in places and left to be stomped over by men.

"Who owned you?"

"It belongs to the early bird, O Son of Mah. You, the unvanquished prey, the hunted becoming the hunter, discover it when no glory remains."

A woman materialised out of thin air. She had no clothes on– her naked features, sculpted perfectly by God were left to be seen by explorers. She exuded purity, no sign of lust in her gait or in her impenetrable obsidian eyes as black as the sky of new moon. Her skin was fair and pale but not bloodless and blue. They had a tinge of red, as if life still thrived inside of her.