Scheherazade And The King

Shariyar glared at the young girl cowering at his feet.

Pooled at the base of his throne in a heap of delicate gauze and glittering gems, she was as beautiful and simple as the rest of them had been. Even now those large, vacant eyes were overflowing with tears.

"Please, King of Kings, spare me," the girl whimpered through her clasped hands. "I beg of you to spare me."

"Why?" the king asked, his voice low and dark.

"Because I have done nothing but try to please you!" she cried. "I will be a good wife to you!"

"A good wife?" Shariyar scoffed angrily. "Experience has taught me there is no such thing."

"But I am different, I -"

"You are all the same," the king interjected. "You are a faithless, deceitful breed."

"My king, I would never betray you like Queen Nasrin."

Shariyar's rugged features hardened at the mention of his first wife. In an instant the emperor was another person entirely: His cinder eyes ignited in a flash of anger, his upper lip curled into an animalistic snarl and his powerful hands shook as they clenched the arms of his throne.

The girl knew immediately that she had made a mistake. Her wide eyes grew even larger and her entire body trembled under the vengeful eyes of the king.

"You would," the Shariyar spat furiously. "You would and you will if I give you the chance."

"No, no please," she begged. "Please, my king, no."

The girl threw herself at the king's knees, grasping desperately at the rich fabric he wore as if seeking some comfort in its folds. Shariyar stood up and grabbed the young woman by her throat, wrenching to her feet with just one hand.

Fresh tears and wails erupted anew as he drew her closer and closer to him, closer and closer to the unbridled rage burning in his eyes.

"I wonder exactly how many days it would be before I find you in bed with another man," he said slowly. He pulled the top of her dress down violently, exposing her breasts for the world to see.

"No, never!" She choked, trying desperately to tear the king's fingers apart.

"Or how many months would pass before you try to murder me in my sleep," the king said, his voice rising. His open palm came down on her right breast, turning her milky skin a deep red.

"Ah! Please -"

"Or how long it would take you to cut my still-beating heart from my chest," he roared. Another slap, this time across her tear-streaked face.

The girl did not have enough breath to scream but she managed a strangled gasp.

"Be silent you treacherous whore," he snapped. "You will be exiled and when you die alone in the desert, your sun-bleached bones will serve as a reminder to all men that a woman's love is as fleeting as her beauty."

Shariyar threw the girl down and slowly resumed his place on the throne, watching with dark satisfaction as the guards came to haul her half-naked body away.

The girl's wailing cries for mercy barely registered as they echoed through the halls. Shariyar had long grown deaf to any woman's please for forgiveness. This girl would mark the one hundred and fiftieth woman he had married and then exiled since his wife's death.

Exile from the kingdom was tantamount to a death sentence. If the desert did not kill the women, the robbers who haunted the treacherous dunes surely would.

And she will not be the last. Shariyar thought to himself. They will all die. Every last one of the treacherous whores will die.

Shariyar glanced idly around the throne room, counting off the ever-present guards to make sure that none but two were missing as he waited for Jafar.

His childhood friend and most trusted advisor, Jafar was a tall, strapping man with green eyes and dark hair had not yet begun to grey. He had a broad smile that used to help them escape from all sorts of trouble when they were boys. Shariyar had not seen that smile for a long time... At least, not directed at him.

At any moment now, Jafar would storm into the throne room. Just as he had every morning for the past hundred and fifty days, the vizier would arrive in shocked disbelief and then become exceedingly angry with the emperor before attempting vainly to bargain for the girl's life. Finally Jafar would become despondent and leave to oversee the beheading.

Shariyar sat up straighter as the heavy wooden doors to the throne room were thrown open.

"Right on time," he muttered under his breath.

"Shariyar!" Jafar cried as he stormed towards the king. "How could you? Have you any idea what you have done?"

"She was just like all the others Jafar," he said. "She would have betrayed me before we'd even finished our honeymoon."

"That was the high court judge's youngest daughter," the vizier moaned. "Do you have any idea how many men you have just added to your list of enemies?"

"Men are not the problem, Jafar."

"They will be if you ever find yourself unguarded," he warned.

"That is why I never am," Shariyar said icily.

"You are without a doubt the most -"

"Jafar," the king said sharply, "do not say something you won't live to regret."

The vizier sucked his teeth and fumed silently at the king. After the Queen betrayed him, Jafar had watched his friend and ruler descend into crippling madness like a powerful dog ravaged by rabies. He was consumed with revenge and thought of nothing else.

"Let's bypass the usual routine, shall we? No, I will not alter my decision. Yes, the order for exile has been given. And yes, you must bring me another one," he said.

"And where do suggest I find another one?" Jafar asked, not even attempting to hide his anger.

"The harem, Jafar, where else?" Shariyar snapped.

"As of ten minutes ago, the harem is empty, your highness," the vizier seethed. "You have managed to exile all the women in your palace in less than half a year and you are still not satisfied?"

Shariyar rose and began to pace the room, stroking his beard anxiously. He was a ruthlessly handsome man with light brown eyes that smouldered like molten amber and coal-black hair that was only now beginning to streak with grey above his ears. And yet a blind man could see the vengeful madness that lurked just behind those striking features. Jafar pictured him now as a wolf that had lost the scent of its quarry, foaming at the mouth from want but finding nothing in its retraced footsteps.

Finally the king stopped pacing and whirled around to point a threatening finger at Jafar.

"You will find me a girl, Jafar," he said. "There are thousands of unmarried women in this city that would leap at the chance to marry the King of Kings. You will find me another one or it will be your head instead."

"This is insanity, Shariyar!" Jafar cried exasperatedly. "You have gone too far!"

"I haven't gone far enough!" the king roared. "They all deserve to die and I won't stop until this city is cleansed of their treachery!"

"You dishonour your mother and your sister with your words," Jafar warned. "When you condemn all of womankind on the actions of -"

"You have not known betrayal," Shariyar fumed. "You are lucky your fiancé died before you had the chance to marry her."

"How dare you?" Jafar asked, his hands curling into fists. "You dare to bring Nerin into this? You know very well -"

"Enough!" Shariyar interrupted, drawing his sword from its sheath and raising it to the vizier's heart. "Find me another or die!"

++++++++

That afternoon Jafar rode through the streets of Persepolis in search of another sacrifice for the king. He had been loose with his words in front of the scullery maids, knowing that within a few hours his purpose would be known. Indeed, he had not been wrong: every father in the city had hidden his unmarried daughters away.

For hours he combed the main roads and back alleys of the city searching for a single woman mad or desperate enough to follow him back to the palace. A selfish part of him hoped to find one, but for the most part he did not: Although he did not care for the thought of death, he had watched far too many innocent girls be cast out into the desert to die for his lack of action.

The sun began to sink lower and lower into the sky and he directed his escort back towards the palace.

"Oh well, my friends," he chuckled sadly to the guards, "I suppose I should have quit while I was a-head."

No one laughed.

Jafar's heart grew heavy as they neared the palace. He was riding knowingly to his own execution.

"Men," Jafar said suddenly, "grant me one reprieve before I return to Shariyar to die. Let me go to the cove on the other side of the palace. I will not attempt to flee, I merely wish to see the ocean one last time."

Not one of the soldiers could refuse the advisor and they escorted him through the forest that bordered the palace's west side and out to the seashore. Jafar dismounted and walked to the ruined dock that jutted out into the sea. The men rested in the growing shadows and paid him little mind. They trusted him to brave his fate like a man.

Jafar climbed along the cracked slabs of stone that had once formed an ancient cargo dock. He and Shariyar used to sneak out of the palace every chance they got to play here. Inside the palace they were prince and nobleman, out here they were roguish pirates, desperate castaways on a desolate shore, deserters from the navy. Across the small bay was a small fishermen's wharf where the men were just now bringing in the last catch of the day. When they were boys, Shariyar and Jafar had often listened to the fishermen on the wharf tell stories of mermaids, sirens and sea-nymphs as they mended their nets. The salt air incensed the boys' imaginations and made the stories seem not only possible but probable.

"For Shariyar to remember the happiness we felt here," Jafar breathed, "I would give anything."

Jafar stared sadly at the waves lapping against the ruined dock. The sun was slowly being swallowed by the gathering dusk and he could wait no longer. Jafar turned to head back to the palace and face his executioner when he heard a commotion coming from the wharf. He walked slowly down the dock and over the rocks to the small beach. The fishermen were yelling and laughing at something - perhaps one of them made an unusual catch or brought in an unlucky haul.

Smiling as he envisioned a great octopus being dragged ashore, Jafar trudged leisurely over the soft, white sand. This might, after all, be his last moment to laugh.

But then the royal advisor heard something that spurred his restful pace into a jog - the sound of a woman screaming. Jafar whistled for the guards to follow him as he picked up his pace, sprinting now to the wharf as the woman's cries grew louder.

Jafar and his escort elbowed their way through the throng of fishermen. At the centre of the gathering two young men were standing over a young girl whose only covering was the algae-encrusted nets she was caught up in. The youths were tugging at the nets, whistling and jeering at the girl as she struggled desperately to keep herself covered.

"Enough! Stop this!" Jafar shouted over the clamour of the crowd. "How dare you insult the modesty of a woman?"

A nervous silence settled over the assembly of fishermen as the guards moved to surround the girl.

Jafar threw off his cloak and wrapped it around the girl's shivering shoulders. His blood was boiling when he stood up to face the fishermen.

"What have you done to her?" he demanded furiously.

"Nothing sir!" one of the youths answered pleadingly. "We were fishing and caught her up in our nets."

"She's not a lady sir," chimed in the other, "she's a sea-nymph."

"I wouldn't care if she was a jinn!" he fumed. "She is a member of the fairer sex and must be treated as such!"

The lads cowered under the advisor's flaming gaze and nodded vigourously.

"I will allow you to go unpunished despite your crimes," Jafar said. "But you will remember this day and what I have told you or be prepared to face the consequences."

The young men bowed away with a thousand expressions of gratitude and apology.

"Clear them all away," Jafar said, waving his hand at the curious spectators.

As the guards pushed the fishermen away Jafar returned his attention to the girl who was desperately trying to untangle her long, delicate limbs from the nets.

"It's all right, you're safe now," Jafar murmured, kneeling down to help unsnarl the mess of seaweed and netting.

The girl's skin was so pale it seemed imbued with the same silvery-blue of her eyes. She certainly did look like one of the mer-folk Jafar had been told about as a child. Her hair was the colour of the palest sunshine and it was braided with strands of shining thread, semiprecious stones and carved charms. Strange, scrawling tattoos decorated her body with symbols Jafar did not understand. She looked young, indeed he doubted whether she had seen any more than nineteen or twenty summers in her lifetime.

Jafar shook his head as if attempting to break the spell her beauty had placed on him and wondered if it was really possible for the girl to be a mermaid or a sea-nymph. If she was, the fishermen's stories dictated that he needed to give her a gift. His cloak was not enough, he needed to give her something from the land, of his own making. Jafar's hands suddenly went to his throat where a single ivory charm hung from a simple string around his neck. The piece of bone was carved into a simple shell and had been intended as a childhood gift to his mother before she died. Without hesitation he pulled the necklace off and held it out to her.

"Please take this gift from my land and let it speak to you of my heart and of my hand," he said measuredly. All the fishermen in the stories had said something along those lines.

The girl's azure eyes captured Jafar's completely and held his gaze hostage. He could feel her eyes searching his soul and he offered no resistance.

The young girl eyed him diligently, taking in every tanned inch of his skin. Her saviour was a handsome man: his viridescent eyes were honest and his hair fell around his face in dark waves. She reached out a hand to touch him, her fingertips dancing lightly over his cheek.

He was older than he looked, and she could see that he had endured a great deal of torment and pain. Finally the girl's gaze softened and she let her hand fall. Her lush lips turned up in a grateful smile as she accepted the gift.

"Thank you," she said as she clenched the charm tightly in her pale fingers. Her words dripped from her lips in a dark, exotic accent that Jafar could not place. "It is not often that men remember the lessons childhood stories taught them."

"Then you are a mermaid?"

"I did not say that," she said, handing the charm back to Jafar.

Jafar shook his head and closed her slim fingers around the charm: "It was a gift."

"Thank you," the girl murmured.

"What are you?" Jafar pressed.

"I am from the sea," she said, her eyes glinting almost mischievously as she fastened the string around her neck.

"A sea gypsy?"

"You are putting words in my mouth," she admonished softly. "I have told you all you need to know - I am from the sea."

Jafar nodded slowly. He did not know what to think of the mysterious girl. In all likelihood she was probably nothing more than a sea gypsy but this wan creature looked nothing like the nautical vagrants he had encountered before. The young woman before him looked as beautiful and spoke as regally as a siren princess washed straight out of a fairy tale.

"What is your name?"

"Scheherazade," she answered.

"Well Scheherazade, my name is Jafar," he smiled gently. "I am the royal vizier to His Highness Shariyar, King of Kings and Emperor of Persia."

Though the young woman nodded, Jafar suspected those names meant little to her.

"You need food and rest," he continued. "I can take you to the palace where you will be cared for."

"I would not want to burden you," she said. "I can find a ship that will take me home in the morning."

"Never, Scheherazade," he said. "It would be an honour if your presence graced the king's court."

"Then I will be happy to accept," she replied graciously.

The vizier nodded and helped the girl to her feet. She gripped Jafar's arm tightly to keep herself from falling but her knees buckled after a few steps and she crumpled to the ground.

"Scheherazade!" Jafar gasped, kneeling at her side.

"I'm afraid I am not used to walking anymore," she muttered.

Jafar pulled the young woman into his arms and smiled kindly at her: "All you had to do was ask for my help."

Scheherazade rested calmly in the vizier's arms until she saw the horses. Jafar felt immediately how rigid the young woman's body became.

"What's wrong?"

"I do not trust those things," Scheherazade said, her brilliant eyes scanning the creatures with suspicion. "Both ends are treacherous."

"Don't worry," he chuckled. "I will not let it hurt you."

The vizier helped Scheherazade onto his horse and then climbed up behind her, wrapping a protective arm around her waist and pulling her tightly into his chest.

As they rode slowly back to the palace, Jafar suddenly remembered the king's orders. His heart sunk in his chest and despair clouded his countenance.

Almost as if she could sense his anguish, Scheherazade looked over her shoulder at the vizier.

"What is it, Jafar?"

"I had forgotten that I am a dead man," he said, smiling sadly at the young woman.

"Why is that?"

"King Shariyar was betrayed by his first wife and his descent into madness has cost one hundred and fifty lives," he explained. "Every evening he marries a woman from his harem and every morning he has her exiled."

If Scheherazade was shocked, she did not show it.

"This morning he sent the last woman in his harem to die in the desert and ordered me to find another or face execution. That is why he cannot see you and why, after tonight, you will not see me again."

"Then you do not intend for me to marry him?" Scheherazade asked.

Jafar 's shocked voice came over her shoulder: "Of course not! Scheherazade, I did not save you just to let you die."

"But you did save me Jafar," she protested, "and that means my life is yours. I give it to you freely."

There was silence behind her.

"I can save you if I marry the king," she pressed.

"No," Jafar said shortly. "I could not live with myself if I let you do that."

++++++++

Jafar and his escorted reach the palace just as dusk devoured the last glowing rays of the setting sun. On the vizier's orders, the escort were gathered closely around him to keep prying eyes from noticing the cloaked figure in front of him.

They rode into the stables and Jafar quickly leapt off his horse. He turned to help Scheherazade down but, to his surprise, she landed softly beside him, already surer on her feet.

With a quick ring of a bell Jafar summoned a pair of servants to whisk Scheherazade away to the innermost sanctum of the palace: the harem.

"Even the king cannot enter the boundaries of the harem," Jafar said as the servants surrounded her. "As long as he doesn't know you're there, you will be safe."

"Don't do this, Jafar," she protested. "I can save you. I promise you he will not exile me."

"He has not spared one woman no matter her beauty," he countered. "You will be as good as dead by tomorrow if you marry him."

"If his heart is as troubled as you say it is, beauty is not what he seeks," she persisted. "I can at least give you one more day. Please let me repay my debt to you!"

"No!" Jafar cried. "I will not let you die!"

"I won't," she said firmly.

"Take her to the harem and do not let her leave," Jafar commanded, ignoring Scheherazade's pleas.

The two servants wrapped their arms through Scheherazade's in an attempt to lead her away but the young woman held her ground.