The Storyteller's Daughter

What if his true destiny was this: Always to be unable to obtain what others seemed to come by without thought.

What had Dinarzad said? That Shahrazad had told her a tale each night since she had first grown strong enough to lift up the lid of the trunk. How many times had she reached in and pulled forth the thing she longed for, each time successful though she was just a child?

But for the king, it appeared, there would be nothing. No tale, just as there had been no trust.

No love.

No! Not this time! thought Shahrayar. This time will be different. This, I vow.

And as if his vow contained the power of a wish, his hands found the thing they had been searching for.

Shahrayar seized the piece of cloth in his hands as he drew it forth as if he were afraid it might escape him now that he had found it. Then almost at once, he relaxed his hold. Passing the cloth from hand to hand as if trying to learn its texture. To figure out how Shahrazad would be able to perceive and decipher what he could not.

Though the finding of it brought him wonder, to Shahrayar it still seemed but a simple piece of cloth. It was thick and heavy, its texture rough in some places and smooth in others. It seemed to cling to his hands, then slip away all in the same moment. Even its color seemed changeable, so that he could not truly say just what color it was.

"This is all that I could find," he said at last. He sat back upon his heels and raised the cloth to Shahrazad.

"That is as it should be," Shahrazad answered as she stretched out her arms. Shahrayar laid the cloth across them. "For it means this story is yours. Will you hear it?"

"I will," said Shahrayar.

At these words, Dinarzad sighed once more. Shahrayar closed the lid of the trunk, lifted it, and set it aside. Dinarzad then curled up at her sister's feet. Shahrayar retired to a nest of cushions nearby.

For many moments Shahrazad did nothing but sit silently, her head bent, as if listening to the story within the cloth. Then she began to move her fingers from side to side across it—on one end only, Shahrayar noted. Not from end to end, as if to learn the tale in its entirety, but only the place where it would start. Though how she knew which end was which Shahrayar could not even begin to guess.

"This tale is subde. It has many twists and turns," Shahrazad said at last. Then to Shahrayar's secret delight, she smiled."As befits the mind of a king, perhaps."

"Perhaps," agreed Shahrayar.

"It is long, as the life of a king should be," Shahrazad went on. "Are you sure you have the will and the patience to hear it through to the end?"

"I do," Shahrayar vowed.

Though he expected her to begin at once, Shahrazad sat perfectly still for the count of a dozen heartbeats.

"Then I will give you its name and begin," she said at last. "The story you have chosen is called ..."

Chapter 9

T H E T A L E O F T H E K I N G W H O T H O U G H T H E C O U L D O U T S H I N E T H E

S T A R S

"Once, in a country so far away that you and I will never visit it, there lived a king who desired one thing above all others: to have a son. He had a wife of many years whom he loved dearly, but, because she had given him only daughters, he divorced her and set her aside. He then chose a new, young wife who was beautiful and virtuous, as his first wife had been in her youth, a thing the king had conveniently forgotten.

Surely, he thought, a wife such as this will give me the son Ihave desired for so long.

"But this marriage proved more disastrous than the first. For, while the king’s first wife had at least given him daughters, his second wife gave him no children at all. Finally the king decided to consult an oracle. Something in the stars was working against him. This much now seemed certain. He needed to discover what it was and what sort of sacrifice might be required of him. Not a very great one, he hoped. So he kissed his wife the queen and set off.

"For many days the king traveled, making his journey to the oracle on foot, for so it had always been done. For all in this country knew that those who see what no one else can care nothing for the trappings that make others so proud. And so the king took no servants or retainers; he wore no fine clothes but only simple pilgrims garments. After several days of traveling by both day and night, he reached the foot of a great mountain. Its top was shrouded in clouds. None could remember when it had last been seen. But there, all knew, stood the oracle and the seer who could read the stars.

"Now, at the foot of this hill ran a stream so clear you could see every stone in the streambed. Its water was as pure as starlight itself, and so cold that people did not drink there to slake their thirst for fear the water would freeze their throats closed. For many hours the king walked alongside this stream, searching for the place where he might cross it and find a way up the mountain. Just as the sun began to sink in the sky, he realized he had walked the entire way around the mountain's foot and arrived at the place where he had started. And still he had not found the way across the stream and up the mountain.

"Discouraged, the king sat by the streamside to rest himself while he considered what to do next. Try as he might, he could reach no other conclusion than that he would have to brave the icy water in order to reach the oracle.

"No sooner had he reached this conclusion than the king heard a rustle and a stomp behind him.

Leaping to his feet, he spun around and beheld a woman so old she was bent over nearly double. Her features were folded in upon themselves like a piece of fruit left too long in the sun. A milky-blue film covered the surface of her eyes. The king found the sight of her revolting. He was not accustomed to such ugliness.

"His first thought was to drive the old woman away. But at the last moment, the king remembered that he stood at the foot of the oracle. If ever he should be on his best behavior, this was the place. So he resisted his first impulse and spoke to the old woman kindly.

'"What do you here, Mother? he asked. 'Do you come to consult the oracle?

'"My business is my own and none of yours,' the old woman replied in a voice as dry and scratchy as a sandstorm.

"The king felt a spurt of anger at her words, for no one had spoken so to him in a very long time, if they ever had at all. Yet he mastered himself a second time, for now he remembered something else: It was said all were equal in the eyes of the oracle.

'"Though you will not reveal it, I will aid you in your business if I can,' he promised.

"'Excellent,' the old woman replied at once. ‘Then take me upon your back, and carry me across the water.'

"When the king heard this, he was greatly dismayed. For though he had been growing accustomed to the way the old woman looked, that was hardly the same thing as being willing to touch her. Still, he knelt and took her upon his back as she had demanded, for he could see no other option. Then, binding up his robes so that they at least might stay dry, the king waded out into the water.

"It was cold. So cold it sucked the breath from his lungs and made spots dance before his eyes. A cold that made his legs burn like fire. The stones of the streambed were slick as glass beneath his feet. At any moment, the king feared that he might slip, tumble all the way into the swift-moving current, be pulled under, and drown.

"His back itched with the desire to fling the old woman from it and plunge alone toward the opposite shore. But again, the king mastered his impulse. What he had started, that he would complete. No sooner had he thought this than he felt his feet touch the far bank. Up, up, up, the king climbed. Until his head was spi