It was not particularly unusual in equine size, neither large nor small, but rather of a more refined and aristocratic shape, with a quick wiry frame and nervous delicate features. The mane of the horse and its finely groomed tail were as pristine white as the sun upon the sands of the desert. The whiteness stood out in a shock of perfection against the skin with its mere hint of rippling rainbow of mother-of-pearl.
The boy knew then that he had to come forth. He had to be near that creature out of an unbelievable dream.
And so with a gulp he stepped away from the safety of the outcropping, and said distinctly,
“Come,” to the pack-beast. The boy wanted to announce himself to the world at large. He wanted to announce his emergence out of the dream that was the desert into the reality that was the world of men and caravans, and—the creature of mother-of-pearl.
It was obviously there among them, and it had to be divine, so of course he could find himself a place among mortals once again.
The boy walked forward upon the sand and rock, barely moving his gaze from the beautiful horse, until he was in the clearing and someone nearly ran into him.
“Watch yourself, boy!” The man spoke harshly and was on his way past him, pale cotton robes moving in the strong wind, features obscured by his head wrap, except for a dark flash of beard.
As the man went by, the boy smelled a whiff of camels and spice and humanity. It smote him with the power of the present reality, of the here and now, and dispelled the last vestiges of his desert dream of solitude.
He was back among mortal men. And he was completely ignored.
The boy stood holding the reins with one hand and the cup in the other, while around him passers by moved quickly, emerging from tents and carrying wares.
He was an island.
And less than thirty feet from him stood the fabulous beast.
“What are you gawking at?” said one guard, noticing him standing so near. “Even staring at Tazzia for the likes of you is forbidden. Scram, dark boy! Before the Lord sees you despoiling his greatest prize with the lust of your unworthy eyes.”
“Ah, let him be, Grego,” said the other guard. “Tazzia is on display for all, and lust is but in our mortal nature.”
The boy looked directly into the warm eyes of the man who had spoken last, and was emboldened to ask, “What manner of horse beast is this Tazzia?”
The guard laughed. He was handsome and confident. He had olive skin, and his infectious grin revealed strong healthy white teeth. But on second glance his eyes were not warm, but pale azure like the water of the sky or the air of the wind—things cool in themselves that only reflected the heat of the sands below or the sun’s fire. Warm only by association. And the dissonance made the boy confused.
“Tazzia is like no horse you have ever seen, little man,” the guard said. “And you will never see one such again, for as long as you live. That I can promise you. Tazzia is rumored to be a god.”
“What kind of god?” said the boy, continuing to stare. “I have seen a god in the flesh, and it wasn’t a strange thing at all. Not like you’d think. Gods can appear to be exactly like us. But I believe that this here is a marvelous creature.”
“Well, what have we here, a little wise man who knows gods in person? Tell me, little man, what is your name?”
The boy grew still for a moment, remembering in odd silence. “The god,” he said, “named me Nadir.”
At that, both the guards guffawed. “The god! The god, he says! He’s been named by no less than a god! Does it make him a proper priest of that blessed god? Well, are you a priest, boy who has been named Nadir?”
But in that moment there came a rather sharp snort from the direction of the fabulous horse. The creature of iridescent cream and rainbows stomped on the ground angrily and tossed its head, white mane flying in the wind. And immediately the guards dropped their mockery and the cynical expressions, and turned their full attention to their equine charge, forgetting altogether the boy named Nadir.
Nadir stood thus, and watched a maddened rolling eye of Tazzia follow him sideways, like a malevolent violet gem. If this was a god, then it was surely not a pleased one. And it had seen him, the boy, as surely as the boy had seen it.
“Stand clear!” exclaimed Grego, “Woah! Hold that other rope, Zuaren, damn this beast . . .”
And in the instant that he spoke thus, Tazzia stood up on its hind legs, looming suddenly fully twelve feet tall, throwing its mane back, shaking his beautiful head madly, and kicking with its front legs in a flurry of sand dust.
The pale-eyed guard named Zuaren moved faster than anyone Nadir had ever seen and snatched the torn piece of thick coarse rope still attached to Tazzia, while the other end fell limply on the ground near one of the wooden posts.
“This is the second broken rope today,” he grumbled, pulling up sharply and jerking Tazzia’s lovely neck.
The horse neighed in fury and was back on the ground with all four legs.
“I think he thirsts,” Nadir said suddenly. And just as suddenly he left his own pack-beast standing several feet away, stolid and undaunted by the passion display of the greater horse. And Nadir approached the creature of mother-of-pearl with his cup of water.
“No, boy, get back!” cried Zuaren, but then his words froze to silence, for Nadir had raised the wooden cup and lifted it before Tazzia.
The wind of the desert all around them was the only sound, as Tazzia became still and put its slender muzzle forward.
The creature of mother-of-pearl drank the water from the wooden cup. And drank.
Long minutes later, as its lips were still moving thirstily and its throat muscles contracting in rapid swallows, the two guards stared in amazement, for there seemed to be no end to this water. Nadir’s hands tired from holding up the cup.
At that moment, from the ornate door flap of the grand tent behind them came the Lord himself, followed by several retainers.
“What is going on here?” said Lord Urar-Tuan. He was a short and slender nearly hairless man with an ocher tint to his skin, and weirdly slanted eyes. His hair was oiled, black, and gathered in a tail in the back of his scalp, while the front half of his head was shaved. He was clad in bright glistening silks, finely embroidered with ornate, delicate designs. Nadir, as he continued to slake Tazzia’s thirst, couldn’t help but stare at its master. He had never seen such a smooth hairless man before, such slanted eyes, such yellowish skin. Maybe this was another god?
“You!” exclaimed the Lord in a rather un-godlike shrill voice and with an oddly slurred accent, seeing the boy. “What are you doing there? Get away from my property!”
Nadir gulped and drew the cup away from Tazzia’s soft, dripping, still-moving lips as he met the sudden intense cold anger in the slanted eyes of the man.
And then the Lord motioned for his retainers to take Nadir and bring him forward. Nadir felt himself grabbed roughly by the elbows and literally picked off the ground, carried several steps, and then thrown at the feet of the exotic Lord.
As Nadir fell, his wooden cup came away from his hands and landed at the feet of the Lord. As it landed upright, splashing a little, then settled, everyone could see that it was filled to the brim with clear water. . . .
Lord Urar-Tuan drew his thin dark brows together and stared at the wooden cup at his feet, its oddness registering in his mind just for a moment. But then his awareness passed, and he turned away to stare impassively at the dark boy scrambling to rise before him.
“I can have you whipped, boy,” Lord Urar-Tuan said. “What manner of filth did you try to feed my horse?”
“Forgive me,” Nadir began, “I could see that the creature was thirsty, and this is perfectly good water, so I gave—”
“My Lord Urar-Tuan,” the guard called Zuaren interrupted suddenly. “The boy indeed meant no harm, and Tazzia was once again bent on madness. We have noticed that drinking has appeared to calm him down—that is why we allowed this. In fact, there is somethi
ng rather unusual about that cup. . . .”
“Guard, I can have you whipped also,” the Lord said, cutting him off in an icy tone.
“Indeed, I will have both of you punished for allowing a stranger to even approach my Tazzia.”
And, saying those words, Lord Urar-Tuan kicked the wooden cup at his feet with the toe of his embroidered shoe.
The cup rolled only a couple of feet, hindered by the sand, and then landed once again upright . . . and filled to the brim with water.
This time there was no mistaking the oddity.
As everyone stared—truly, a small crowd was beginning to gather near the tent—Lord Urar-Tuan glared at the cup intently, then walked forward and picked it up. Nadir’s hands clenched involuntarily as he watched the Lord roughly handle the cup. Lord Urar-Tuan paused for only a second, holding the full cup in his right hand. Then with a sharp gesture he tossed its contents to the ground below.
Everyone watched an exact cupful of water violently drench a spot on the ground, discoloring the sand.
And then everyone watched as the Lord brought the cup back upright, and it was . . . full to the brim with liquid, glittering persimmon in the sun.
And in the general silence a young boy’s defiant voice was heard.
“This cup is blessed,” said Nadir, rising from the ground. “For it has been given to me by Ris, the Bringer of Stillness and Water. Ris the Divine has made it so that the cup remains full always, bottomless. I have crossed the desert with no other water than what is contained within, which has been enough for me and my pack-beast. And the boundless water itself is my sister, also blessed by Ris.”
And then he outstretched his hand and said bravely, “Please return the cup to me, my Lord, for it is mine.”
But no one was ever to know what Lord Urar-Tuan would have done on his own—whether he would’ve conceded to the noble or the greedy act; whether he would’ve surrendered the wondrous cup to its rightful owner or tried to keep it for himself against all the gods’ justice—for in that moment a little girl came forward from out of the shadows of the tent. The little girl was like a porcelain doll, a weirdly beautiful replica of the exotic Lord, and was wrapped in the same expensive grade of silks. Pearls and glittering stones lay in close rows upon her brow and over her sleek black hair, and hung like grapes from her tiny earlobes. More strings of jewels cascaded from her temples in garlands and fell to her neck and below, to her tiny silk-wrapped waist. She wore soft embroidered slippers also trimmed with pearls, loose pants, and a fancy caftan on top of it all, like a many-layered inverted rose blossom with drooping petals.
The girl had the same slanted eyes, thin slivers of almond. The eyes stared unblinking at the boy, then moved away.
And then she pointed at the cup, speaking to the Lord in a strange lilting tongue, tones rising up and down like waves of water, or dunes sliding in the wind. . . . An involuntary smile came to the previously impassive features of Lord Urar-Tuan. He chuckled softly, then nodded and gave the cup to the little girl, and patted her cheek. Then he glanced at Nadir and said in the more familiar tongue, “How much do you want for this magical trinket, boy? My daughter will have it for herself.”
Nadir stared back and forth between the tiny animated doll and her imposing father.
“No,” he said. “You don’t understand: this is my cup! My grandmother—that is, Ris—gave it to me and none other, and I demand it back!”
“Demand?” Lord Urar-Tuan said, this time laughing darkly. And then he added, “Someone, bring me a small purse of gold coins. About twelve should do it.”
“No!” said Nadir, but his protest was unheeded.
A servant went to fetch the gold.
The beautiful little girl meanwhile moved a few steps away, and held the cup with both of her tiny hands, shaking it a bit, and making the water slosh back and forth and spill past the brim. Soon her tiny face glowed with a smile that was hard to describe because of its oddity, and then she giggled to herself. Muttering in her lilting tongue, she swirled the water in the cup with her finger.
Next she started to upturn the cup and spill endless cupfuls on the dry white sands around her, spinning in place, splashing herself and making gurgling sounds of wicked glee. Seeing that, some of the nomads who had gathered to watch shook their heads. There was a swell of displeased mutterings in the crowd.
“Spoiled girl . . . Have respect for the water,” they were heard to say. “Water is a gift of Ris, especially in the desert, and especially from the blessed vessel.”
“Egiras!” called Lord Urar-Tuan, noting everyone’s displeasure.
The girl turned quickly, and her laughing face transformed into a petulant frown. The Lord said something stern in their alien tongue, and the little girl frowned even more, but stopped playing with the water.
At that point the gold purse arrived.
Lord Urar-Tuan made a great show of opening the silk bag, and spilling twelve shining gold coins upon his palm. He then put them back in the purse and handed it casually to Nadir.
“I don’t want anything from you!” the boy said in outrage. “I want my cup back! Give me back my cup!”
A knot of pain intertwined with anger was building in Nadir’s throat. He wanted to collapse and weep, to allow his facial features the freedom to convulse into a spasm, but he would not. The boy’s face was immobilized with the effort of holding himself back, and he glared at the Lord.
“You refuse this fair payment?” said Lord Urar-Tuan, smiling thinly and ignoring the boy’s fierceness. “Well then, you will have none. I count to three and if you will not take the purse then it returns to me, and everyone will have seen that you refused it. I still keep the trinket. One!”
Nadir trembled.
“Take the purse boy, don’t be a fool,” Zuaren said quietly, “Go on. . . .”
In Zuaren’s hands at the other end of the rope, the creature Tazzia began to snort, nostrils flaring.
“Two!” Lord Urar-Tuan said. The little girl Egiras giggled, looking at him with wicked laughing eyes.
And Nadir stared back at her, stared at what he saw now as a beautiful demonic doll, and in her eyes a challenge.
And, staring, he drew his hand forward and accepted the bag of coins. He was not sure why he did it, only that it felt like the right thing to do in that moment of surreal intensity. Everyone in the crowd breathed a sign of relief.
“Good decision, boy,” the Lord said. “I like your prudence. You can come to the back of my tent and eat with the servants. Go on now, take your old donkey or mule or whatever this sorry creature is, and go to the back. You—show him where the cook works the fire. . . .”
And Lord Urar-Tuan turned away without another glance at Nadir, and went back inside his tent.
The little girl followed him, no longer frowning but impassive and with a very adult expression of disdain. She held the wooden cup of water close to her chest, and then, just before disappearing behind the doorway hangings, she threw a quick icy glance at Nadir. She purposefully allowed the cup to tilt in her hand so that its contents spilled endlessly upon the sand for several long moments. . . . And then, with a final toss of her bejewelled head, she too was gone.
The crowd began to disperse. And yet some people were still shaking their heads, for all could see injustice wrought before them.
“Poor foolish boy,” whispers came. “Lord Urar-Tuan has tricked him out of a treasure. . . .”
In the meantime, the servant who had been singled out by the Lord motioned for Nadir to come along.
Nadir stood petrified, unsure of what to do next and confused by what he’d just conceded to by accepting the coins.
The desert sun beat down from on high, and air pulsed with heat in the middle of the clearing in front of the great tent. Before following the servant, Nadir threw one wistful look at the closed tent flap where the Lord had disappeared once more inside. And then he stared grimly at the two guards milling about and tightening the ropes around the odd
iridescent creature Tazzia.
In the warping air, Tazzia seemed to waver in and out of this reality, and Nadir blinked, unable to focus his eyes properly upon its suddenly unstable form. It was as though the trembling spouts of heat rising from the sands were fueling its existence.
“Don’t forget your own mangy old beast there,” Grego said, noting the boy’s once more mesmerized pause.
Nadir emerged out of his reverie and guiltily went back to take the reins of his poor complacent pack-beast.
“Look at its foaming mouth. Now, it needs water,” said the other guard, Zuaren. “So, then, what will you do, boy? You’ve lost your miraculous treasure, but you’ve gained in coins. Will you part with some now for a bit of liquid nourishment and a bit of advice?”
“Stop your foolery,” Lord Urar-Tuan’s servant said to the guards as he paused, seeing that Nadir was not moving. “And you, boy, once and for all, come along. The midday heat is unbearable, and I have no time to tarry.”
In that instant, Tazzia neighed, shaking its head lightly. Its intense eyes suddenly met those of the boy, and he was sure he heard words spoken in his mind.
Do as they say. Go inside, and wait.
Nadir froze, then suddenly felt the dry heat of the desert wind lick the nape of his neck as though an invisible hand touched him and pushed him forward.
And thus Nadir took the steps toward the tent.
He was sure now, a god was watching his back.
Nadir sat cross-legged on the floor of a poor smoke-filled tent, at the outermost edge of a mealcircle. Regular servants of the Lord Urar-Tuan sat closer to the middle where the hot coals were maintained. On top of the coals reposed a large flat slab of stone, upon which meat and vegetables were being grilled, stewing in their own juices, and sprinkled with newly traded spices.
“Put the best pieces here on the Lord’s tray,” said a shawled woman servant to another.
“And take them to the Lord’s tent. When you serve them, be sure to put the sweetest palest chunks on the little one’s plate, since she likes them lightly browned only. Do it exactly, now.”
The second servant proceeded to fill the tray with the choicest bits, while the others chewed in hungry absorption. There was little conversation.