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He nodded.
“The first few days on board the ship were difficult for Agib. He was not a seafaring man and had very little experience traveling in this ma
“Truly a conundrum,” the caliph remarked.
Shahrzad ignored his quiet jab. “One week out to sea, there was a terrible storm. The ship was lashed about on immense waves that threw it far off course. Alas, this wasn’t the worst calamity to befall them: when the waters finally stilled two days later, the captain was nowhere to be found. The sea had swallowed him in its salty midst.”
Shahrzad paused. As she leaned forward to select a grape, she shot a furtive glance over the caliph’s shoulder to the decorative screens leading to the terrace. They were still shaded in the cloak of night.
“The crew began to panic. They were stranded in the middle of the sea and had no way of guiding the ship back on course. Arguments arose as to which sailor would assume the role of captain. Consumed in this struggle over power, the crew failed to realize a speck of land had appeared on the horizon. Agib was the first to point it out. It looked like a tiny island with a mountain at its center. At first, the crew rejoiced at the sight. But then an older sailor muttered something that ignited the panic anew.”
The caliph listened, his amber eyes focused squarely on Shahrzad.
“He said, ‘God be with us. It is the Mountain of Adamant.’ When a general outcry ran through the others at the truth behind these words, Agib asked what made this mountain so terrifying that grown men quailed at its sight. The old sailor explained that the Mountain of Adamant possessed a dark magic that pulled ships toward it by virtue of the iron in their hulls, and once a ship was fully within its grasp, the Adamant had such power that all the nails would be drawn out of the vessel, thereby sinking it to the bottom of the sea and sentencing all its occupants to a watery grave.”
“Instead of wasting time lamenting their predicament, perhaps they should try to sail in the opposite direction,” the caliph suggested drily.
“And this is exactly what Agib advised. Every oar was ma
Shahrzad lifted her glass and reached for the wine. She hid her surprise when the caliph filled her cup without a word.
The very edge of the screen behind him was begi
“Agib scrambled onto the stern of the ship—the last part of the boat still intact. In the melee, he noticed a heavy iron pot sliding past him in the direction of the mountain. Using the deft hands of a master thief, Agib snatched the pot and clung to it for dear life as he was pitched over the side and into the vast waters of the sea. The pot weighed him down terribly, and he fought to stay afloat, searching for something to cling to. The sound of his fellow sailors drowning around him only made his search all the more desperate. When he found a broken piece of the main mast, he flung his free arm around it, still clutching the pot with a frantic kind of fierceness.”
The caliph’s sharp features softened in understanding. “It’s quick thinking on Agib’s part. He is hoping the pot will direct him to the island.”
Shahrzad smiled. “Precisely. After many hours, Agib’s instincts led him to land. He stumbled onto the shining black coastline of Adamant, exhausted and trembling with fear. He passed out in the shadow of the mountain and did not awaken for many hours. When dawn broke, he stirred and began the search for food and water before realizing this was truly a place of death and destruction—no life stirred anywhere around him, and water was as scarce as hope on this desolate wasteland. He collapsed against a pile of rocks in despair, realizing his demise was, once again, upon him. As the rocks behind him shifted, a small metal chalice slid out from between the cracks. It was old and worn, beaten around the edges.”
A faint blue light crept higher up the screen, sliding between its beautifully carved slats, bringing the designs from haunting silhouette to life.
“Agib studied the chalice. It was caked with sand and mud. He staggered to the water’s edge to clean it. When the dirt floated away beneath the surf, he realized the cup was covered in markings, the like of which he had never seen. He raised it into the sunrise, but drops of water still marred the surface, so he swiped his sleeve across the cup to dry it . . .”
Now the very edges of the screen were tinged in the glowing white of dawn. The rays of light streamed through the slats onto the marble floor like veins of raw gold stretched thin in the heat of the early morning sun.
Shahrzad’s heart threatened to burst from her throat.
“And the chalice started to tremble. From its hollow depths, a smoke the color of a clear midday sky began to swirl and grow until it became a flameless plume. In terror, Agib dropped the chalice and fell backward against the hard black pebbles of Adamant’s shore. The smoke grew in size and density until a shadow formed in its center.”
The caliph bent forward.
“The shadow solidified . . . and began to laugh.”
Shahrzad stopped.
Dawn had arrived behind the caliph, in all its horrifying glory.
“Why did you stop?” he asked.
She twisted her eyes in the direction of the terrace. The caliph followed her gaze.
“You may finish the story,” he stated.
Shahrzad inhaled with care. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, sayyidi.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have only just begun the tale.”
His eyes narrowed to ochre slits. “Finish the story, Shahrzad.”
“No.”
He unfolded to his feet in a ripple of grace. “So was this your plan all along?”
“What plan would that be, sayyidi?”
“A trick. A tactic to stay your execution . . . to begin a tale you had no intention of finishing.” His voice was deathly low.
“I have every intention of finishing it—tomorrow night. Whether or not that happens is entirely up to you.” She stared up at him, clenching her fists within her shamla.
“You said you understood; your life is forfeit. That was clear from the very begi
Shahrzad rose to her full height. She pulled back her shoulders and lifted her elfin chin.
When she spoke, she matched the biting softness in his tone.
“All our lives are forfeit, sayyidi. It is just a question of when. And I would like one more day.”
He glared at her, the sharp cut of his profile even more menacing with the haze of anger coloring its surface.
A single knock struck the door of the chamber.
“Just one,” she whispered.
The tiger-eyes raked up and down her, gauging their adversary, weighing their options.
A heart-stopping minute passed.