“Knowest thou the rules of wishing wishful wishes?”
The lad Iskandar sagely nodded his youthful head.
“Aye, that I do,” he replied.
“Then you may proceed,” replied the djinn, Zimzollazinsta.
“Then I wish thou thy freedom, afrit,” wished the boy.
The djinn recoiled in shock. His entire demeanor became one of unbelief.
“W-what did you say, boy?” he whispered this time.
“I wish for you your freedom, Zimzollazinsta; that never again shall you be held in slavery to mankind; that from this day onward thou mayest find thy own shores upon which to tarry, with nary a chance of being ordered about again by the likes of el-Amin! Henceforth, the lamp is your home no more, and thou art free to wander the universe as only thy kind may,” clarified the lad.
Slowly the imposing behemoth shrank until, bearing the likeness and size of a lad Iskandar’s own age (the being’s true form since their kind do not age) the afrit stood before him.
“I thank thee, Iskandar of Beni Sujiz,” the djinn said softly.
And then in the fraction of the twinkling of an eye the genie disappeared, leaving Iskandar alone in the still quiet and darkness of the tent. And when he left he took not the now dull lamp. This the afrit left sitting crookedly upon its ornate plinth, now only an ordinary and listless oil lamp of virtually no value, since with his leave taking even the gold now looked to be only burnished brass.
Once again Iskandar took up his search.
As he quietly tiptoed through the tent, finding great earthen vessels of gems and gold and silver coins and the like, he heard again the deep voice of the head man.
“Stay you both here, and stand guard. As Allah is my witness, I shall return shortly,” the menacing tones resonated.
“We shall, by Allah!” replied both guards, each gripping a form of halberd with a spear head along with an axe blade upon one end.
Aha, thought Iskandar excitedly. Here is the true treasure!
The gems and coins and arms and bullion were fine treasures indeed. However, a man only places guards upon that which he truly worships! Using his dirk to good effect, the boy sliced his way through the side of the tent wall and into a small area that he found to be a blind hole, created inadvertently while setting up the tents. The only way into this little spot was to cut a hole through a wall.
Iskandar found himself once again beneath the stars. On every hand were the fabric walls of the tents and tunnels of Sheikh Akram el-Amin. Smiling, he watched the shadowy reflections of the figures of two men who stood on one side of a heavy tapestry before the entrance to one of the tunnel-like constructions of fabric that let into one of the tents whose wall now lay before him.
He drew his dirk once more and approached the tent wall into which the tunnel gave entrance…
A Treasure Beyond Belief
As silently as a spirit leaving a body the boy’s dirk slid slowly down the thick fabric wall of this most holy of holies of Akram el Amin.
Inside, the lad could hazard no guess as to what he might find. But that it would be invaluable he had only to look to the two guards that let into this tent to realize. Even the other tent - filled as it was with gold and jewels and weapons such as his people coveted nearly as much as their women and horses - were left practically unguarded. It was as if they felt the palisade to be protection enough for the treasure trove, but that this priceless rarity must be guarded against even the djinn of the desert – perhaps even from the men of el Amin’s own douar!
Iskandar breathed a silent prayer of thanks to Allah, recalling his father’s words of wisdom: “Ah, my son, that wilt know it!”
Indeed, his father was wise!
Now the lad insinuated his body through the fissure he’d fashioned with his dagger and found himself in this most sacred inner sanctuary of his father’s enemy.
It was nothing less than living quarters!
Confused, the lad glanced quickly about, seeking where the priceless item might lay hidden. Could it be that this place was designed thus to confound a thief? Silently, swiftly, he started to begin his search but something, some sixth sense that comes to those who live close to the wilds, warned him that something was amiss. Pausing, he let his eyes more slowly roam the dimness of the interior of the brightly fashioned and festooned livery of the interior.
Eyes!
Staring at him from behind an immense seaman’s chest in a darkened corner, a chest that Allah only knew how had found its way to this arid place, was a pair of eyes! Iskandar’s breath hissed in between his clenched teeth. He had been so careful, so silent! How had this come to pass? This must be the secret inner guard of this place!
Swiftly drawing El Azra'eil, he challenged, “Come forth and we shalt do honorable battle for the treasure thou guardest!”
Slowly the figure stood and came forward. Iskandar strained to see what weapon the fiend might come at him with, not yet seeing anything. As the warrior approached the light, the son of Ilyas ibn Saleh saw suddenly that what he had supposed to be a Numidian - or perhaps an immense Gala slave - was actually a mere kaa‘ib – a nubile young maiden!
And then the girl stepped into the light, and the strength of Iskandar ibn Ilyas flowed from his limbs like water from the back of the hippo.
Allah, what beauty was hers! He could scarcely think a thought for staring and staring into those vivid – those startling – eyes! By Allah, he thought at last, has anyone ever seen eyes so blue before? It was almost to insult her beauty to compare them to the blue of a noon-time sky or the azure of the sea! Mesmerized, the lad never noticed that, as if in a trance, he’d returned El Azra'eil to his scabbard.
His heart hammered in his chest like the hooves of his father’s stallion on the rocky road that leads to their douar. For a moment the lad felt as though he might faint due to the intense blood flow he felt hammering in his temples. He blinked, wondering if the maiden were perhaps an afrit who would disappear like a vapor. But when he opened his eyes again she was still there.
“Who art thou?” he whispered hoarsely, his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth – a mouth suddenly gone dry.
For her part the girl was also sizing up this one who dared invade her inner sanctum.
Akhstfurallah, she thought, could even Allah fashion so comely a lad? Or is he perhaps a malak – an angel? Oh! What if he can read ones thoughts?
Thinking of the last few thoughts that had run unbidden through her fertile young mind, the girl flushed crimson.
Although embarrassed, she had no idea the effect her blush would have on the lad whose mouth literally dropped open at the suffusion of color in the young beauty’s skin.
“O Allah,” he said aloud, “That I should live to see something so beauteous! Tell me, I beg you, what is your name?”
“My name? I am called Izzah! And thou?” she replied, “Thou art real? Not some conjuring of my imagination?
Bid for Freedom
“Nay, I am real. But you! Surely you were fashioned by Allah from starlight and moonbeams! Nay, not even these can compare to your beauty!” professed Iskandar.
The girl, seeing now that the lad was real and not some figment of her imagination, said, “Tell me, why have you come?”
“I am Iskandar ibn Ilyas. My father is a long-time rival of the Sheikh, Akram el-Amin! He has sent me to appropriate el-Amin’s most valuable possession so that when I am one day Sheikh the people will see that I am wise, cunning and brave! I have seen many treasures this night, and have traveled alone, on foot from my father, the Sheikh’s, douar that I might return in honor upon the back of one of el-Amin’s prized stallions. But until now I had no idea what el-Amin might consider his most valuable possession! Yet now, after seeing you and finding how he keeps you behind swords, I know that it is you he values above all things!” avowed Iskandar.
The girl gasped.
“You must refer to Ily
as ibn Saleh! I have heard my father speak of him!” she said.
“Your father? Come Izzah - I must return with you to my father’s douar! Come with me! Later, if you wish it, I shall return you to the tents of el-Amin!”
“I will go!” she said spontaneously, unable to say nay to the fair youth. “I am but a prisoner here; mayhap in your father’s douar I shall be free! And I shall be with you!”
Iskandar’s heart skipped a beat. Stepping to the lass he placed both hands upon her shoulders, thrilling at the touch of the young girl’s flesh.
“And I, you!” he said passionately.
Grasping the girl’s hand, he led her then back the way he had come. After many close encounters with the various members of her father’s retinue and with more each passing moment coming into the tents for the evening, they came at last to the small slit he had made when first he entered the collection of tents of Sheikh el-Amin.
Having the prize with him he decided not to risk attempting to steal the stallion a well, saying as much to Izzah.
“We shall climb out the way I came, and return to my father’s douar on foot. I had wished to take a stallion, but the risk is too great! The journey is long, but I can carry you!” he said.
“Nay, fair Iskandar! You would not light a lantern and then place it under a box! Nor would it profit a man to place a handful of coin into a pouch with a hole! Should you return with me to your father’s tents it shall indeed bring your name honor - but should you ride into