The Book of Wonders (22 page)

They strode through the entrance and into a marble room lined with books. Bright light flooded down from small circles in the ceiling, and a man, as beautiful as an ancient god, stood waiting for them. He reminded Zardi of one of the statues in her garden at home: regal, body perfectly carved, cold.

“Ah, Khalila, good to see you after all this time,” the man said, tucking a heavy-looking book under one arm. “You don't look a day over a millennium.”

Khalila inclined her head, clearly taking his words as a compliment. “Hello, Oli.” She looked him up and down. “I must say, this current appearance is very pleasing.”

“It's the Adonis look.” Oli flexed one of his defined biceps. “I've been employing this look for the last two centuries, on and off.”

“Yes, you've always liked your myths and legends.” Khalila smiled. “The Oli I knew before liked appearing as Pan the satyr.”

The djinni shook his head. “Horns and a potbelly. What was I thinking?”

Khalila wrinkled her nose. “We all make mistakes.”

Oli's face became serious. “Truer words you've never said.” He looked at Zardi and Rhidan. “You have made a mistake coming here today. You will not win the Windrose.” He cocked his head to one side. “However, as you have come with Khalila, I will do you the kindness of letting you scurry away now.”

Rhidan looked at Oli squarely. “I'm afraid that's not an option.”

“So be it.” The djinni's handsome face twisted into an arrogant smile. “If you want the Windrose, you'll have to win it off me. The name of the game is a riddle. And the riddle is to guess my name.”

“When do we start?” Zardi asked.

“Such eagerness.” Something akin to admiration tinged Oli's voice. “You know, I have been reading about you and Rhidan with much enjoyment.” He took the book he was holding out from beneath his arm. The simple leather cover was imprinted with just four words:
The Book of Wonders
. “Such a shame that your story will end here.”

“That's our story?” Zardi asked, her voice a squeak of surprise.

“As it is lived, it is written,” the djinni replied. “My library is filled with people's lives.”

“Zardi, ignore him,” Rhidan growled. “He's playing games with us
again
.”

“Believe what you like.” Oli placed the heavy book on the shelf.

“The riddle, please.” Rhidan's voice was calm.

The djinni clasped his hands together, and, as they glowed amber, the outline of a door suddenly appeared on the wall behind him. “The Windrose is behind this door. Guess my name and you can order me to open it. Fail to guess my name and you will die here. No amount of begging or pleading will change this.” Oli's face was stern. “Do you understand me?”

Zardi looked at Rhidan. She felt as though someone had spooned out her insides, leaving behind just the husk.

“Maybe we don't have to do this,” Rhidan said.

“Yes, we do,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “We need to do it for Zubeyda and Baba. Time's running out.”

Rhidan tugged on his amulet and turned to Oli. “We're ready.”

“Then let us begin,” the djinni intoned.

Heavy words, lightly thrown
,

Shall reveal what is unknown
.

Smooth as oil, rough as grain
,

I will heal internal pain
.

Sweet and savory I can be;

You must sow the seeds to see
.

Answer now, no time to wait
,

I'll burst open, never late
.

Oli fell silent. He clapped his hands together and a spark burst into life at the bottom right corner of the door.

Zardi watched as the spark slowly began to edge up the door's outline, leaving a golden trail in its wake.

“You have until the golden spark reaches its end point to solve the riddle,” Oli said. “After that the door will be sealed and your lives will be mine.”

“They are so young.” Khalila looked at them pityingly. “It's a shame that there is no other way.”

“They have made their choice. Age has nothing to do with it.”

Zardi could feel Rhidan trembling beside her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the two djinnis. “Come on, you're brilliant at riddles. Let's solve it.”

“All right.” Rhidan's voice wobbled but his eyes were determined. “What we need is logic and patience.” He started to pace. “We'll look at each clue in isolation.” He began to look more confident. “Then we search for a pattern, the thing that links them all.”

“‘Heavy words, lightly thrown, shall reveal what is unknown,'” Zardi recited.

Rhidan rubbed his chin. “That's easy enough. Oli is just setting up the premise of the riddle. Telling us that his words can reveal the answer.”

“What about the next line?” she asked. “What is as smooth as oil and as rough as grain at the same time?”

“Slow down there,” Rhidan said evenly. “He's not necessarily saying that this thing has to be rough and smooth at the same time. Maybe it is like the sea, calm sometimes and rough at others.”

“Yes, of course,” Zardi murmured, thinking of all the times she'd looked out at the water while sitting on Desolation Island's shore. She frowned. “But you can't compare the sea to grain. It's a different roughness. The roughness of grain is like sand or something.”

Rhidan's eyes widened. “Glass!” he exclaimed. “Glass is made out of sand. It starts off being rough and ends up being smooth.” He surveyed his surroundings. “Look at this place, what do you see?”

“Glass!” she repeated, looking at the see-through walls of the fortress. Her heart beat a bit faster. They had the second part of the riddle, and a proper clue to Oli's name. Zardi's gaze fixed on the door: The golden line was about a third of the way around the frame.

“Healer of internal pain,” Rhidan muttered to himself. “That's got to have something to do with medicine, right?”

Zardi nodded. Unbidden, an image of Sula came into Zardi's mind. Sula the medicine woman. Sula massaging salve into Rhidan's hand. A thought, shadowy yet stubborn, danced at the edges of her mind.

“So we have two clues, glass and medicine.” Rhidan was pacing furiously now. “But what about the next two lines, ‘Sweet and savory I can be; you must sow the seeds to see.'” He recited the lines once, then twice, his brow a map of furrows. “Yes, that fits,” he murmured after a moment. “I think he's talking about a cooking ingredient.” Rhidan tapped his head. “But that doesn't help us at all. Most things grown from seeds end up in the kitchen.” He punched a fist into his palm. “It could be anything. Pomegranates, oranges, sesame seeds, barberries, tomatoes—”

“Wait a second, say that again,” Zardi urged as that whisper of a thought suddenly started to become much more solid.

“What, tomatoes?”

“No, no, the one before.”

“Barberries?”

“No, the one before that!”

“Sesame seeds?”

Zardi didn't respond. It was like a mosaic image all slotting into place and the whole picture showed a humble, honey-colored seed.

“Sesame,” she whispered, although it took all her self-control not to shout the word from the top of her lungs. “Don't you see? It fits with each part of the riddle. Sesame can be used in sweet and savory dishes, and if you plant sesame seeds they produce flowers, which generate more seeds.” She gripped his hand. “Nonna told me once that I was impatient like a sesame seed. She said that the pods burst open when they are ripe, like they can't wait to be eaten.”

Rhidan's eyes lit up. “‘I'll burst open, never late.' It fits perfectly with the last part. But what about the rest of the riddle? What on earth has sesame got to do with glass or medicine?”

“I'm not sure where glass comes into it, but do you remember when you burned your fingers? Sula used a salve and said that it had sesame oil in it to take away the sting. She said sesame oil cures all kinds of pain.”

Rhidan was nodding. “But what about glass? It's the only thing not to fit.” He looked over at the door that led to the Windrose.

Zardi followed his gaze. The golden seal was almost all the way round. “Listen, Rhidan, forget about glass, will you? For just one second!” Desperation made her words sharp, even to her own ears.

A wounded look passed across his face.

She rubbed at her forehead. “Sorry, it's just that sesame fits with the rest of the riddle. It has to be rig—” She was stopped abruptly by Rhidan, who clicked his fingers loudly.

“What if that first line isn't talking about glass at all?” he said. “What was it again? ‘Smooth as oil, rough as grain.'” Rhidan's face was flushed. “Sesame seeds feel like grain, right?”

“Right,” Zardi said.

“Well, if you press sesame seeds for long enough you get oil. Grain and oil.”

Zardi whirled toward Oli. The djinni was on the floor doing push-ups, while Khalila stood a little distance away, looking bored.

“Have you got an answer for me?” Oli jumped to his feet and dusted off his hands. “You really should get a move on. That door is going to be sealed any second now.” He looked ridiculously smug as the golden spark raced toward the finish.

Rhidan glared at the djinni. “Yes, we have an answer.”

“Sesame. Sesame is your name.” Zardi pointed at the door. “Open, Sesame. Open the door.”

T
he djinni's smug smile slid from his face, and the golden seal around the door spluttered for a second and rolled back to its starting point.

“What … h-h-how did you guess?” The djinni's shoulders sagged as the door swung open to reveal a marble staircase.

“Teamwork.” Zardi grinned at Rhidan.

“Extraordinary!” Khalila's smile made her beautiful face exquisite. “I see now that neither of you should be underestimated.” She turned to the djinni. “I believe you have a Windrose to show us, Sesame.”

“Do not call me by that name.” He looked furious.

“The Windrose, Sesame,” she repeated. “Show it to us.”

“Afraid not, Khalila. I will show the Windrose to
her
.” Oli pointed to Zardi. “She is the one who used my true name and issued the command. She is the one I will take to the Windrose.”

“Wait a second!” Rhidan cried. “We worked the riddle out together. We should both get to go.”

“You're welcome to try,” Oli said with a smirk, some of his old arrogance returning. “But you'll be burned to a cinder first.”

“And why's that?” Rhidan demanded.

“Only the person who made the command can cross the threshold.” Oli headed toward the open door.

“It's all right.” Zardi put a hand on Rhidan's arm as he opened his mouth to protest further. “Let me go with him and get the Windrose. Then, when I come back, I can give it to you.”

“Wrong again.” Oli tapped a slippered foot impatiently. “The Windrose calls on all four elements to find those things that want to remain hidden and that includes fire. Only the keeper of the Windrose will be able to withstand its heat. Anyone else who touches it will be burned. Badly.”

Zardi met Rhidan's gaze and blanched at the expression on his face. He looked as if someone had just ripped his heart from his chest.
He should be the keeper of the Windrose
, Zardi thought.
He's the one that made it appear on Sula's table
. “Oli, please,” she pleaded. “There must be a way I can give the Windrose to Rhidan.”

The djinni looked amused. “Sure, there's a way. You could always die. Ownership would then pass on to the next person to touch the Windrose.”

Rhidan's eyes were filled with disappointment, but he managed to raise a smile. “Well, that would be a bit extreme. It's all right, Zardi. Go and get it.”

“All right,” she replied quietly, still feeling guilty. She joined Oli by the open door and together they crossed the threshold. She looked behind her to see Khalila put a hand on Rhidan's shoulder. Then the door slammed shut, taking all light with it.

The way ahead was dark, except for a spot of flickering blue at the top of the tall staircase. She didn't ask Oli which way to go. There was only one way, toward the light. She felt out the steps with the tips of her feet, climbing each one slowly. The djinni followed.

Neither of them spoke as they ascended the steep stairs, but Zardi could feel excitement and something else radiating from the djinni in waves. Her heart thundered in her ears.

She continued to climb the stairs but the blue light seemed to be forever out of reach, and Zardi found herself thinking about Sula again. The medicine woman had told her she had a destiny to fulfill, that her path might take her from Rhidan's side. Zardi wondered if this climb upward was the separate path of which Sula had spoken.

Suddenly, she was at the top of the staircase, and the azure glow that had seemed so far away was all around her. Ahead, beneath a roof made entirely out of glass, stood a fountain. Blue liquid flame pumped from its head, pooling into the fountain's basin. Oli guided her right up to the font. Despite its intense heat she made herself look down into the depths of the pooled flame. A golden disc, with a tree emblazoned at its center, spun in the bowl of fire. The rubies studded around the inner ring burned like embers and the words etched onto the gold bled into each other as the disc whirled.

The Windrose
.

“Here it is.” Oli pushed her closer. “Won't you take it?”

“But how?” Zardi asked, her mouth dry. “It will burn… M-my hand will burn.”

Oli's voice was scathing. “All things have a price. You have come to take something from this fountain. An object that can lead you to anything in the world, all the riches, all the knowledge that you've ever wanted. Did you think that it would come for free?”