Volume 1

The story of a shepherd boy who chance-met a silver bottle in the desert, and the uninvited guest imprisoned within.

People say that when King Al-Ahmar still walked the earth, he gathered jinni and demons from across the land and sealed them into magic bottles by the thousand.

People say that once the world was filled with jinni, and Al-Ahmar—mighty yet bewildered—plucked them from the desert's silver night-winds and drifting sand, from the ocean's unfathomable swirls, from the tinkling of rainforest springs, and shut them into bottles of dark silver—like a conqueror who brooked no equal, like a curious child.

Al-Ahmar once yoked the jinni with bridle and bit, and from their laments learned of the pale moon and of the Morning Star that drives the chariot, and raised the great amphitheater-city Ay-Khanoum—"City of the Moon Maiden"—in their memory. Legend holds that city was a city of jinni, a paradise Al-Ahmar granted the moon's remnant people. In return the jinni forged for him the vast gates of his tomb.

Such is the desert singers' account alone. Now, after ages upon ages, just as the city of the valiant Shimur people—Saleh—the realm of the wise Tulaytullah folk, and Orghana of twenty-nine generations of kings, so too Ay-Khanoum, and the countless clans that dwelt there, and the unnumbered jinni sealed in dark-silver bottles, have long been buried under layered yellow sand, whirling currents, and silt.

But let us now set aside needless research and proof, and return to the main tale—

It was the fifteenth year after Port Ormos was built. A young shepherd unearthed a silver bottle on the Hills Where Gravel Sings (note 1). Whether from childish curiosity or from a carelessness desert folk ought not to have, under moonlight the youth broke the seal on the bottle's base and opened it. (note 2)

"Mortal raven—so noisy…"

A jinni rose from the bottle (note 3), taking the form of a dancer soft and languid as a cat, luminous as a water lily.

"Raven…?"

The dull youth did not understand. He did not look like a bird, nor was he noisy by nature.

"Yes, raven."

The jinni repeated herself, rather impatient.

"A bird that lives and dies in a flash—noisy life… 'Only in death do they awaken.' What is it you fail to grasp?"

The youth shook his head again, dense as ever, and earned a sigh.

"Very well then, you foolish dull bird."

The jinni shook her head. Braids anointed with myrrh swayed gently in the moonlight; gold bells at their tips rang a sound that lulled one toward sleep. Yet her amber-gold eyes held the gleam of a dagger.

"I permit you three questions—but I also have three conditions—

"First: you must not slander my lord Al-Ahmar. This is the heaviest. (note 4)

"Second: you must not harbor arrogance. Short-lived mortals should know their place.

"Third: you must not eavesdrop on matters of heaven and of the underworld. Know that the heavens have steadfast sentries and brilliant constellations.

"Otherwise I shall ride the night wind, just as the three goddesses of the night moon ride their war-steeds, and rush into your mouth and nose, empty your organs and soul, and make of your undying flesh my new dwelling."

The youth hurriedly covered mouth and nose, nodded hard, and tried to show he understood the jinni's terms.

"Ask, then, favorite of my lord, thrall of Heaven."

The jinni spoke with a light laugh. Pale moonlight fell upon her thousand braids, then seeped into near-transparent skin and shone like crystal sand.

"Who are you?"

the youth asked.

"I am a creation of the sky, and a living thing of the world. I am an exile of ages, and loyal servant of my sovereign lord. I am an elemental spirit who will not kneel to flesh and blood, an eternal prisoner content with the mask of ease…"

The jinni proudly lifted her chest, letting moonlight pour down her translucent form, letting the desert night wind set the gold bells in her hair ringing.

"I am a descendant of Liloupar. I may be great or small, rise or vanish; whether within the waves, in the night wind, or upon the bleak light of a dead moon, my kindred are there. In short—I am a proud jinni."

"Then why are you in this bottle?"

The youth, who knew nothing of charm, shook the silver bottle in his hand and asked blankly.

"My lord Al-Ahmar was one who meant to conquer heaven and earth; every mountain and sea obeyed his command. Thus he cast magic bottles of dark silver for us, set his seal upon us, and we became his servants in noble creation and exploration. In other words… not shameful thralls, but proud servants.

"Only later…"

The jinni's amber-gold eyes dimmed, and her voice grew much softer.

"My lord brought disaster upon himself, and condemned us to the absolute penalty of oblivion across several generations. Thus we and our kin were trapped in sealed silver bottles, drowning in dreams, until the hour when death itself ought to die."

"Well then—third question!"

The jinni waved her hand gaily; ancient silver coins strung on her wrist rang clear.

"Ask carefully, or mind your mouth and nose!"

"Then…"

The youth hesitated a moment, then put his last question:

"What is life like inside the bottle?"

The jinni seemed never to have heard such a question. She started slightly, then answered slowly:

"In the first generation I dwelt in a carefree palace, singing with nightingales, speaking love with roses. It was a fair age—an age when poets and lovers were born of me. In that age the whole 'City of the Moon Maiden' seemed to lie within the bottle; even colorless, tasteless spring water could intoxicate.

"Then I said to myself: if anyone should break the seal and let me out into the outer world, I would curse that one to death."

"In a later generation the sandstorms rose and demons ran wild. Nightingales wept blood; their song turned harsh and grating. Roses withered into tangled thorns. Poets wasted away; lovers were scattered; glory was no more… It was a dreadful age, when all froze in eternal collapse. Likewise the 'City of the Moon Maiden' seemed to lie within the bottle.

"So I said to myself: if anyone should break the seal and let me out into the outer world, I would hold it to account for that injustice."

"Then came the third generation. All had returned to dust; all was destroyed. The grand drama of the 'City of the Moon Maiden' had closed, leaving only the vast theater among ruined walls, and the shattered masks of the gods. In that age I wept my tears dry; the chime of gold bells and the layered dance of gauze became a curse that bound me.

"And so, in that desolation, I said to myself: if anyone should break the seal and let me out into the outer world, I would become a vengeful evil spirit—to destroy the world, or destroy myself."

"So…"

A cold desert wind suddenly rose. The youth could not help drawing his broad robe tight and shrinking into himself.

"Yes. I had meant to make you the first target of my revenge… to tear your bones and flesh, and weave a cruel song from your soul."

The jinni laughed mockingly, like a nightingale that announces death on a summer night.

"Only—the light of the dead moon fell upon the dunes of drifting sand, and fell upon me… and I suddenly realized that this world is so lovely.

"A pitiful jinni, like a chick straining to break its shell, hopelessly fell in love with this barren, broken world, and with the restless birth and death of all things in it. A proud child once nourished on roses and delicacies now loves a land full of toads and venomous snakes…

"All of which makes me long to see what it will be like at the moment when the 'raven' transforms into the 'bridegroom.'"

"So…?"

The youth shrank back again.

"So—tell me a story, little raven. Let me know this world."

Looking at the youth's blank face, the jinni smiled craftily; the gold bells at her braid-tips rustled.

And so the jinni of the "City of the Moon Maiden" began her journey through the world anew.

Footnotes:

1. A stretch of desert that members of the Eremites often call "the land of Ajif"—not a fixed place-name, for the dunes themselves flow like the wind.

2. Farmaraz, academic supervisor of the Purbiruni school, insists on his absurd view that it was "out of the inherent foolishness of desert folk." This view is not worth refuting. For such a reasonless man—may a hundred birds gather upon his bed, and may the mountains cast stones at him!

3. Farmaraz of the Purbiruni school again disputed with this writer, holding that "rose" is improper, and that a better word should express the appearance of "spilling forth like resplendent smoke." One must admit his opinion has some literary merit, yet it is hardly the conduct of a scholar. May his guts knot like leaden stones; may the barber be the executioner of his beard and hair!

4. Farmaraz of the Purbiruni school notes that "Al-Ahmar" was not this king's title while he lived, and that citing it here risks a loss of rigor. May wisdom abhor his presence; may his hair grow thin and his beard turn white early!