The Storyteller's Daughter

C h a p t e r 3

S O R R O W

Not long after what I have just related, a great sorrow came to Shahrazad and her father. Maju the Storyteller fell sick of a fever that would not abate. No healers potion would make the fever fall. For many days she lay upon her sickbed never moving, never speaking, with her blind eyes closed. Then, one day, she summoned all her strength, opened her eyes for one last time, and called her daughter to her bedside.

Shahrazad came at her mothers bidding. She sat beside her for many hours. In those hours Maju told her daughter many things, and Shahrazad came to understand much that had been painful and troubling.

But what passed between them, what Maju spoke and what Shahrazad answered, Shahrazad would keep to herself for many years to come.

Toward evening, Maju closed her eyes once more. At this, Shahrazad left the chamber, carrying in her arms the ebony chest that had been the only possession her mother had brought with her when she married her father. No sooner had Shahrazad reached her own chambers and placed the chest beneath the window than Maju the Storyteller took one long breath and released it slowly. And with that, she died.

The moment her mother breathed her last, Shahrazad collapsed upon the floor. For many days she lay as Maju had, without moving, without speaking, her eyes closed fast. The vizier was truly in despair, for it seemed to him that the fever that had claimed the wife he loved would now also steal away his daughter.

He left his apartments only to attend the king. All other hours hed spend at Shahrazad's bedside.

But it was not until the vizier had almost given up hope that his long vigil at last had its reward. For Shahrazad's limbs stirred, and thus she spoke: "Be comforted, my father. For I am still alive and will remain so."

But when she opened her eyes, the vizier learned a bitter thing. Though his daughter lived, she had not escaped the fever unscathed. She was blind, like her mother before her. From that day forward the vizier beheld a change in his daughter. Though her love for him remained constant, Shahrazad now made good the boast she had made to Maju beside the fountain: She never left the vizier's quarters, never received vis-itors. Instead, she schooled herself in how to live alone.

Also from that time forward the tales about her began to spread. Throughout the land it was whispered that Shahrazad was as her mother Maju before her had been. A drabardi. A storyteller. And those who had been with the vizier when he had first taken Maju to wife remembered the prophecy of her people: that Maju's child would come in time to be the greatest storyteller of all.

Shahrazad and her father mourned Maju the Storyteller for a year and a day. At the end of this rime, though their hearts were still heavy, they put aside their mourning robes. That very same day, as if he had only been waiting for the moment, the king, Shahrayar s father, called his vizier before him.

"Old friend," he said. "You have served me well. Now, I desire to serve you well also. I will give to you a beautiful wife to ease your grief, for the time has come to put an end to sorrow."

Now, the vizier had no desire for a beautiful wife. He had no desire for another wife of any kind. For, save for the love he had for Shahrazad, he had buried his heart with Maju the Storyteller. But the vizier had not served the king for so many years without learning his ways. He knew a command when he heard one.

And so he bowed his head and said, "My lord, you do me too much honor."

"Nonsense," said the king. And he brought forth the bride that he had chosen. She was a great court lady, as beautiful as the morning. He married her to the vizier that very hour. And so, though he had set out alone for his audience with the king, when the vizier returned to his quarters he brought with him a bride.

Now, the vizier's new wife was proud and ambitious. Never had she doubted her own value or her beauty, for all her life others had told her of it. She had not loved Maju the Storyteller, and she had no wish to love her daughter.

"Do you not think she would be happier among her mother's people?" she asked the vizier on their wedding night. "Why should she wish to stay here, among foreigners?"

The vizier looked his new wife up and down. That was all he needed to take her measure, though he was careful not to let her know it took so little time.

"She is my daughter also," he replied. "My people are hers, and her place is at my side. I will hear no more talk of sending her away."

So the vizier's new wife had no choice but to bide her time. But she had a plan, and she was sure it was a sound one. She spoke no more to the vizier of sending his daughter away. Instead, thus she spoke to Shahrazad: "Wait till I have given your father a son. I will have done something not even the great Maju could, and then we shall see how soon a storyteller's daughter is forgotten."

Though the words were designed to cut deep, Shahrazad bowed low her head and made no reply. She was still a child and had fears as all children do, but she had no fear that she might lose her father's love.

At last the day came that the vizier's new wife had hoped for: the day she could a

For many hours the viziers wife labored to bring forth the son she so desired. But when at last the child was born, it was not a son. It was a daughter. When the vizier's wife was informed of this, she flew into a rage so great that her heart burst, and she died.

And so it was Shahrazad's arms that first sheltered her sister from the world. And it was she who named her Dinarzad.

The vizier and his daughters lived together quietly and joyfully. Though Dinarzad sometimes accompanied her father outside their quarters as she grew, Shahrazad did not. She kept true to her vow and always stayed within her own household. Many hours did she spend with nothing for company save her own thoughts and the contents of Maju's ebony trunk.

As the years went by, the vizier and his daughters grew in affection, as did the king and his two sons.

The vizier's first act upon returning from his duties each day was to retire to Shahrazad's suite of rooms.

There, he would tell her all that had befallen him. In this way did Shahrazad learn what transpired in her own land. Her father also placed a special set of servants always at Shahrazad's disposal. At any hour of the day or night, they might read to her on any subject she desired. In this way did she learn about the wide world around her.

The cleverness of her mind and the depth of her beauty grew with each passing year. And, as these things grew, so did the curiosity of the king’s courtiers. Their earlier animosity toward Shahrazad's mother was all but forgotten, and they longed to see the storyteller's daughter. And the greatest longing of all lived in the breast of the young prince, Shahrayar, though he kept it locked away inside himself and spoke of it to no one.

But Shahrazad still kept to her own rooms and satisfied only her own curiosity.

When Shahrazad was sixteen, another sorrow befell her and her father. For in that year, the old king died and the whole kingdom was plunged into mourning. At the end of this period, Shahrayar ascended to the throne. He divided the kingdom with his brother, Shazaman, as has already been told you. The brothers embraced. Then Shazaman took his servants and his goods and departed for the city of Samarkand. And so a year went by,