The Three Lives of the Sultan

A young Jinn crosses the broken wall and enters my domain. I stare at him behind a veil of sand. Minerts dissolve and reappear as the sand shifts. He calls out my name, and I appear before him. The tall towers never even reach my toes. The sandstorm which roars around him, only whispers to me.

I spot a little black dot. “For what purpose have you called me?”

“Are you the Guardian of Bait’ul’Alam? The House of Knowledge?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You see I was a Sultan, but I lost my empire. I need to know how to get it back. Will you please help me?”

“No knowledge will satisfy your lust for power,” a voice comes from inside the storm. A dark silhouette of a Jinn walks out. A shawl covers his body, and he wears a wide turban on his head.

“You have skipped the long journey?” I say.

“Believe me, appearing in this form is much more treacherous than any journey.”

I hum, and the storm calms. “And what is your purpose here?”

“I am only a student. I seek nothing but knowledge in your great library.”

“I am not the master of the library. Only its guardian.”

“I apologise. In my defence, I was under the impression that no one more worthy than you to own it.”

“You wish to soothe me?”

“I speak only the truth.”

I take my sword out of the dome, and it shakes the ground. A dune crashes and sand slaps our faces. “Come with me.”

The young Jinn looks back at the Silhouette and then runs behind me. After walking a fair distance, I submerge my sword and the city sprouts up. The observatory over the Bait’ul’Alam twinkles like a star.

Towers like needles emerge out of the sand. Two hollow twin crescent moons mark their tops. Sand drools off them. A bazaar appears before us. Its shop glimmering in gold and silver. The two Jinns enter it, while I walk beside it.

“What’s your name?” say the Silhouette.

“Soloman, yours?”

The Silhouette pauses for a second. “I am only a wanderer.”

“Wanderer, right? So, you are wandering here too?”

“Arrogance has consumed you.”

“And ignorance has made your heart its home,” I say.

“I am only a humble student of knowledge.”

“A humble student of knowledge would tell someone his name, without labelling himself a mystic wanderer.”

“I didn’t call myself a mystic, my lord.”

“You declare me your lord, yet you don’t deem the boy worthy enough to know your name.”

“Well, I am a Lord myself,” said Soloman.

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“And which empire do you rule?” said Wanderer.

“Well, I….”

Wanderer stares at him. A white line of white smoke stretches across his face. Soloman interprets it as a smirk. “You never even had an empire.”

“I was an Emperor, once.”

“You lie to my face?”

“I don’t lie… not anymore. I had the two worlds at my command, the humans’ and our own.”

“Did someone conquer it too?”

“Once, yes, but I conquered it back.”

“Why did you leave then? Were you not happy?”

“Did your land fight for you when you were kicked out of it?”

Soloman chuckles. “Land won’t fight for you.”

“Then why do you fight for it?”

Soloman’s eyes widen and he looks away. We travel in silence for a minute. The Great Simurgh stares at us from the horizon. His giant white eyes tear into our souls and haul the truth out of us.

“If I may,” says Soloman. “To whom this city belonged to?”

“To the humans,” I answer.

“Oh.”

“You were expecting a different answer?”

“It's just that the architecture is so similar to my own empire. The humans aren’t capable of making towers so thin and tall.”

“The humans conquered it.”

“From who?” says Wanderer.

“From me,” I answer.

“You, my lord?”

“I am not your lord.”

“I apologise, but you are or were—”

“Every Guardian of the Library is a slave, I know,” I say.

“But with all this knowledge you can ascend to a higher world. To heaven itself.”

“Is that what you want? To ascend to heaven?”

“It is what everybody wants. It is the last resting place.”

“Then go be a good person. Why come here?”

“Well, I….”

“You want the knowledge of the arcane arts. Travel directly to heaven, and skip the pain of dying. It is what you have done now. You have skipped the treacherous journey.”

“I had hoped that as a Jinn you would understand. It will likely take me thousands of years to die.”

“So, you are the arbitrator of death now?”

“I said likely.”

“If you were truly a humble student of knowledge then you would humbly accept the life given to you. A gift a few appreciate.”

“It is not a sin to want to go to heaven.”

“Do you really think the arcane arts are strong enough to send you to heaven?”

“They helped me get here.”

“Heaven is not a ruined city with only a slave to welcome you. You still cannot submit. You want to be an Emperor, to decide your own fate. Look what it has turned you into.”

Soloman jerks toward the Wanderer. “You are like this, permanently?”

“Yes.”

“You sacrificed your body? For what?”

“This is what arrogance leaves you, Soloman,” I say. “A slave.”

“I am a slave of no one!” says Wanderer.

“Except yourself.”

The ivory gates of Bait’ul’Alam come into view. “We are here.”

A majestic tree on the library’s doo petrifies both Soloman and the Wanderer. The tree’s leaves twinkle like stars in the night sky. Grass covers the trunk and a lily blooms at the centre of it like the moon. But its roots dip into the world of Jinn. They turn white, bringing light to our otherwise dark world.

Soloman turns toward me. “This is the Sigil of my Empire.”

I remove the veil of sand. His emerald eyes match to mine. My curly white beard still has some black hair like his. The shadows beneath my eyes—from the time I lost my empire— never left me.

Soloman takes a step forward. “You are—”

“You are me,” says the Wanderer.

Soloman jolt toward the Wanderer, and then back at me. “Both of you are me.”

“I should have known,” says the Wanderer. “It is not every day that you meet another Soloman, and an Emperor at that.”

“But how?” says Soloman.

“A river flowed near it near this city.”

“The River Anahita,” says Soloman

I node. “Some centuries later, after the human conquest, it changed its direction. The city went into disarray and was eventually abandoned. The Empire soon followed its fate.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“The same reason you have travelled all this way.”

“You couldn’t let go.”

“Yes,” I turn to the Wanderer. “I used the arcane arts to pull the city out of time. It exists where it was, but stuck at the point in time when I pulled it out.”

“So, anyone from all time can enter it?”

“Yes.”

The Wanderer clutches his hands. “So, I abandoned my goal to reach the heavens?”

“No, but the love this city overwhelms my love for the heavens.”

“But you are a slave here,” says Soloman.

“I was a slave before.” I face Soloman. “A slave to my lands.” I turn toward the Wanderer. “Then a slave to my obsession. Maybe I had a chance to change in my youth, or when I ultimately left my empire. But now, my heart is like the colour on my skin: I cannot change it.”